Rotation
by The Readers Muse
Summary: "Besides, it would be a cold day in hell the day he, Daryl E. Dixon would face death charitably."
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters. Wishful thinking aside.

**Warnings:** Please keep in mind that this particular story is based on the _current_ plot of the TV series, _not_ the comic books. While I am aware of the general plot of the comics, I don't intend to follow them; I am simply building off where the first season finale left off. This story **will** contain spoilers if you haven't seen all six episodes, just so you are forewarned. Also, this story will eventually show indications of being pre-slash with a definite later focus on a Glenn/Daryl pairing. So, yes slash people. However, the first few chapters (hopefully) will have no easily definable pairing or slash basis and thus could potentially be read as general.

*There will be significant adult language and reference to drug use and drug slang used throughout this story.

**Authors Note:** Please read and review. I am excited to see what you all think. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism. **This is my second Walking Dead story so I am especially looking for feedback.**

**Rotation**

He had never been one to bemoan or carry on about what was said and done. The past was the past. Things had changed, and while they certainly weren't for the better, there was nothing much he could really do about it.

'_Aint no use in moping and moaning about what you couldn't change. Made no sense And it didn't help you none either.'_

Besides, he saw that as pussyfooting around reality. And that never did _anyone_ any favours. A man had to face his problems head on, with fire and fight in his veins. And if necessary, spit in the face of fate herself in the attempt.

He had always been practical, if not slightly hot tempered, when confronted by a situation he couldn't change, and despite the impossible nature of the one they were all currently facing, that attitude certainly hadn't changed.

_Reality was reality. Hell if anyone, least of all someone like him, could change that._

Instead his mind worked the options left to him. He was a _Dixon_ after all, and the idea of certain death was not something they took lightly.

_Besides, it would be a cold day in hell the day he, Daryl E. Dixon would face death charitably._

But even he had to admit that there were some things in this world that a man just shouldn't have to live without. Cigs, sex, and a few Mickey's of Tennessee Rye, Southern Comfort, and Yukon Jack come immediately to mind o' course.

But to be honest, if he had to name just one thing that he figured he had real cause to complain about, other then the obvious, was that he had damn well missed _**showering**_.

_The feeling of being clean. The pleasure of being clean. He knew he would never take that feeling for granted ever again._

And _**this**__, __**this**_was the _real thing._

Cranking the water up even hotter, he angled his face into the spray, breathing heavy and deliberate in the moisture laden air. Rolling his head from side to side in the spray, he let the rivulets of water stream unchecked down his face. And even as he bared his teeth at the feeling of the stinging heat, his hand moved blindly towards the dial again, turning it even farther to the left as the water pressure flickered momentarily, signalling that yet another of the others had succumbed to temptation.

_**This**_was a_ real _shower with _hot_ water, water _pressure_, shampoo, soap, and even

those ridiculously large towels like they had in those fancy hotels on the television.

Gargling a warm mouthful of water consideringly, he turned, letting the powerful spray pummel against his chest for a full minute before he finally released it, spitting it out in one long stream as he ran his tongue over his teeth.

After nearly two months of lake water and barely luke warm wipe downs, _this_ was like getting a taste of pure heaven.

He tested the various shampoos and shower gels until he settled on as few that smelled the least fruffy, letting himself wish for a moment for the brand new bar of Irish Springs he had left in the shower back at home as he glared through the spray and rising steam at the complex looking shampoo and soap dispensers.

And as he arched into the spray, seemingly unable to keep his limbs still throughout the barrage of exquisite heat and pressure, he rested his face against the callous roughened skin of his palms, letting the water beat down across the sore length of his back and shoulders; before he finally gave his mind its head, and let himself properly think about it…

To think about _everything_ that had happened to him, to _them_, for the first time since the whole world had gone to hell.

As it had happened, he really hadn't had much time to _think_ about it. Hell, he had barely had enough time to even _react_ to it. It felt like he hadn't stopped moving, running, fighting, and pushing onwards since the deadheads first made tracks into his quiet, out of the way corner of the country.

In the end he had been forced to just switch off the internal soundtrack that was bleating like a gangly, newborn lamb in the back of his mind. It was a bloody, screaming chorus of panic stricken chants that insisted _that this wasn't happening_, _that this wasn't the way his life was supposed to go_. That _**this**_ _couldn't _be happening..

_And it had been as distracting as hell.. Mostly cause it was all true. __**How could something like this ever happen?**_

But he couldn't afford that weakness, so he had closed off. Sealing out of his subconscious mind with steel-like reserve, just so he could focus almost solely on the present, on what was right in front of him.

Except now he couldn't seem to hold it in anymore. Everything was tumbling out and spreading across his mind like marbles falling out from a bag. _Feelings, emotions, memories…Everything he had seen and felt over the course of these past months. _It was all there. And now, at long last, it was demanding to be properly dealt with.

Maybe it was the burn of that bottle Southern Comfort lining his gut, or the siren call of the rest of the potent Georgian liquor as it beckoned from the bed side table he had set it on before he had made for the washroom. But if he really let himself dwell on it, it was probably because, for the first time in a long time, he was actually doing something normal, something that _reminded_ him of what he had lost.

_The subconscious mind tended to b a bitch like that._

Bracing his arms against the tile he let the water beat down across the long, tired length of his back, revelling in the heat and rising stream. Already he could feel it, the feeling of caked dirt, gore, and layers upon layers of summer sweat breaking down, flecking and peeling off his skin to mar the pristine coral tiles at his feet.

_God, that felt good._

The pounding water and the stinging heat was slowly reminding him what it felt like to be clean again. _**To feel human again**__._ And for a long, ageless moment, as he stood slack jawed and half drowning admist the merciless spray, he was shocked to realize that he had almost forgotten what that felt like. He hadn't felt it; he hadn't _felt clean_ since he had axed his first walker.

A _person_. A _man_. Someone who had meant _something to somebody._

He had gotten over those types of thoughts pretty quick, but the stains had remained. Refusing to fade or even partially slough off no matter how many baths in the lake, or fire heated, luke warm rub downs he gave himself.

_He had done what he knew was necessary. Necessary to survive. But that didn't mean that he had to like it._

At first he hadn't paid much mind to the TV and radio reports. The media was always over exaggerating and sensationalizing every god damned thing these days, no matter the situation or subject.

He had tuned it out for the most part, only vaguely acknowledging the few reports he did hear about the rumours of a new super bug, a virus that had all the doctors scratching their heads. In fact he had quickly deemed it as unimportant and of no concern of his, he had other responsibilities after all; the farm and animals wouldn't keep themselves. Not to mention Barry down at the 'Gas and Go Garage' kept pestering him with off the books repairs on vacationing city folk's cars.

It was good money for what it was, so he didn't complain much, and Barry generally left him to his own devices, alone in the garage surrounded by the sharp tang of mechanics grease and overheated engine parts while he tried to chase down his own twin boys, kicking the shit out of the long abandoned cars and rusted old tractor parts that lined his property when he realized that the two had gotten wise to their old man's temper a long time ago. Instead, they avoided their chores by haunting the vehicle graveyard behind the shop, preferring to page through old comics and stolen pages of Pent House and Playboy as their daddy worked himself up into a right and proper tantrum.

But the moment he knew shit was really getting serious was when he had flipped on the TV after work, dinner in hand, just in time for some CNN Special Report. It had only been a week or so after the first time he had heard about the virus in passing on the crappy radio in the shop, and despite the strangeness of the initial reports, he hadn't given the reports much thought since he had heard them.

Normally he would have just skipped past it and looked for some commercial ridden movie to compliment the half a six pack of MD he had chilling in the fridge just to pass the time with, but this time, the first few words out of the news host's ridiculously shiny looking lips immediately caught his attention.

"_All Air Traffic grounded indefinitely across the continental US…"_

"_Health Care Centers are urging those between the ages of one to twelve years and adults fifty years or older to drop in their local clinic, now operating 24/7 across the country, to receive their free flu immunity boosters."_

"_The public is urged to take measures to limit their chances of infections to the virus by avoiding areas with high volumes of public traffic, including subways, ram and trail systems, bus and transit services, shopping centers, and other spots of public interest."_

He watched for hours as the TV hosts and news reports came and went, as the computerized banners reeling in a circuit at the bottom of the screen, flew past with words like: "_Infection." _and_ "Virus." _With flashing text that blared phrases such as "_Extreme Contagion spreads through the eastern States. Avoid contact with the major cities along the Eastern Seaboard,"_ across the screen like cries for help.

It happened only a few hours after he first started watching, interrupting a CNN report on the apparent riots growing in the Washington capital with a live broadcast from Los Angeles. The scene behind the reporter chick, who was looking tremendously out of place, all dressed up a black pinstripe power suit, high heels, and perfectly brushed hair, was pure chaos.

He remembered blinking pointedly at the screen, nearly upsetting the plate balanced on his lap as he sat up straighter, his surprised eyes taking in the burning buildings that dotted the background of the shot for as far as the camera lens could pan out, occasionally flickering back to the street, to cover a live shot of the commotion happening all around them. The downtown core seemed all but _alive_ admist a roiling mass of running, screaming figures. There was literally a _crush _of people that seemed to have taken over the streets; jostling and knocking the News crew about even as the camera kept rolling.

But perhaps what was worse was that every couple of moments, the camera would pan out into the jumble of bodies, and focus on the faces in the crowd. And for a few moments all you could see was their faces lit up with horror, their mouths moving, twisting with words and yells that the audio couldn't quite pick up admist the roar of sound around them.

…But the thing was, you could tell that they were _screaming_.

_They were terrified, panicking, and running like they had a nightmare chasing at their heels._

He had craned his neck, straining his eyes into the looming darkness that seemed to permeate the background of the shot. And he remembered how he had struggled to see just _what_ they were all running _from._

_This was the first time he knew of that they actually caught it, the reality of what they were facing on video. The first time in the Northern Hemisphere anyway._

The woman was struggling to be heard as car horns blared and the screaming in the distance reached a fever pitch. She was in the middle of reading a statement from the inundated LA Policing Force, who were reporting a city wide spread of mass hysteria, a rash of unprovoked violence and seemingly random attacks, when out of no where, almost faster then the camera could bring it into focus, she was attacked brutally from behind.

The microphone went flying, garbled before it even hit the ground with a stream of low base sounds. And it took a moment to recognize the sounds for what they were, a chorus of groans and moans that all by overwhelmed his crappy television speakers, growing and growing in volume until it cut out the sounds of the sirens blaring in the distance, punctuated only by her terrified screams, and the angry yells of her partner holding the camera as Los Angeles, the city of Angels, burned around them.

But the man didn't even have a chance to put down the camera and help, because he met the same fate only a few seconds later, with both of them going down in a gritty hail of flying limbs and kicked up gravel. It was all captured by another camera that had been erected on a tripod in front of where the cameraman had been filming, with the broadcast automatically switching feeds to that last remaining camera even as the large one the camera man had been holding hit the ground, immediately lost in a sea of bloody pant legs and gore encrusted shoes.

He had swallowed hard, tasting the traitorous tang of bile building in the back of his throat. _What in the seven circles of hell..?_

Even at the time, despite being startled and admitted somewhat glued to his seat, fascinated by what was happening on the screen much in the same strange way that people will often crane their necks to see the scene of a car accident, uncertain if this was just some sort of hoax or an angry mob gone wrong, he remembered thinking that there was something seriously not right here.

_People…groups of people didn't act like that, virus or no virus. That just wasn't right. It looked more like watching a pack of rabid animals.._

It wasn't until red starting flecking the camera lens, the tripod swinging jerkily and finally falling over completely, as more and more crazed people piled on top of those that had already completely covered the two screaming news reporters, that he realized what was actually happening.

_They were fucking __**eating**__ them._

He remembered how he had sprang from his chair, sending his plate piled with leftover pizza and hot wings flying, cursing a blue streak at the television in disgust and confusion. Not even noticing as the broadcast was abruptly cut off and the CNN host was back on the air, visible struggling to regain his composure as a chorus of angry conversation rose in the background of the studio.

_What the bloody fuck was going on!_

All those reports in the last few weeks, stories half shrouded in mistruths and uncertainties, only to be beaten down the next day by hearsay, for the first time suddenly rang true. Except now those impossible stories, those condemnations and rumours had begun to happen _every_ _single day_. The TV, radio, internet, hell, even the damn CB's were alive and buzzing with activity.

And the words on everyone's lips were that whatever it was, it was _**spreading**__._ Like a _disease. Like a damn killer virus._

"_US government officials report having lost contact with a growing number of embassies in the following overseas cities: Paris, France. Rome, Italy. Berlin, Germany, Athens, Greece, Wellington, New Zealand. Damascus, Syria. Tel Aviv, Israel. Kabul, Afghanistan. Nairobi, Kenya. Freetown, Sierra Leone. New Delhi, Hyderabaa. Kolkata, India. And Tokyo, Japan. Efforts are being made to establish contact. US Embassies in Canada, and Mexico remain in constant contact, and report slowly escalating problems with riots, and limited reports of incident or infection."_

"_Alaska reports first known instance of infection in the State, after a security breach in Anchorage International Airport. No further information has been broadcasted about this situation. Follow this continuing story tonight at seven as we cover the spread of this super virus nation wide." _

It was the same shit that was getting repeated over and over again. Coming across on different medium and extremes, but it was coming in from all over the _world _now, as people struggled to come to grips with the sheer impossibility of what they were hearing. Of what they _had been hearing_ whispered around the world for weeks now.

At first it had been only murmurs, a few words muttered in the night, spoken on the phone, or typed into an email, but soon, despite the absurdity of the claims, it _grew_. Spreading around the globe just like the _infection_ had.

The only problem was that the disease had been faster. Much faster.

_People were dying, and then getting back up... _

_..Only they were coming back __**WRONG**__._

"_And I heard a voice in the midst of the four beasts  
And I looked and behold, a pale horse  
And it's name it said on him was Death  
And Hell followed with him.."_

_Johnny Cash, "When the Man Comes around."_

**A/N:** Let me know if you think I should continue!

**Glossary:** _'Yukon Jack'_ is a honey based Canadian whiskey advertised as the 'black sheep' of Canadian Liquors". It is a 100 proof (in USA) or 80 proof (in Canada) drink, and is known for its "macho image"


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters. Wishful thinking aside.

**Warnings:** See previous chapter for complete list of warnings. In addition, will be significant adult language and reference to drug use and drug slang used throughout this particular chapter.

**Authors Note:** Please read and review. I am excited to see what you all think. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism. This is my second Walking Dead story so I am especially looking for feedback. In addition, I wanted to send a quick thank you to my reviewers. You guys are the wind beneath my typing fingers. I adore you all!

**A/N #1.5:** This chapter is dedicated to _**Mahiri Chuma**_ for being a delightfully evil little sprite with her capabilities of mental mind control. Represent!

**Rotation –**_** Chapter 2**_

The next morning the broadcasts were sporadic, the hosts confused and visibly frightened as they grasped at the merest fragments of reports or stopped completely in mid sentence, apparently bereft of their usually seamless transitions as new information continued to pour in. The news rooms both in the background and behind the rolling cameras seemed to be caught in a permanent state of uproar, with the staff yelling and shouting intelligibly in the background, often crossing directly in front of the cameras to hand deliver the latest information to the stuttering news hosts.

And all the while, the text at the bottom of the screen rolled on by, telling him what the hosts couldn't quite seem to get out. _That things were bad, really bad._

_No one really knew what the hell was going on and it showed up like a bad penny on payday._

He had woken up with the dawn, startled out of bed just as the sun rose, when the TV he had left on in the living room crackled temperamentally with static, the volume still cranked from the night before.

He was just throwing water on his groggy face, sleep still clinging to his eye lashes, when the broadcasts that were floating sporadically through the half open bathroom door finally registered in his sleep fogged brain.

"_Breaking news to report this morning. Our top story: Jerusalem, Israel has been left completely decimated. Reported to be entirely destroyed in the wake of a massive overnight air strike by the countries military forces, apparently in a final desperate attempt to stop the spread of the contagion after containment measures in the countries capital failed. No clear report on the loss of life is yet available, but initial estimates place the numbers as possibly ranging as high as anywhere from 450,000 to even 650,000 dead."_

He skidded out of the bathroom in a tangle of bare limbs, shirt slung forgotten over his shoulder and yarding up his boxers as he went. His bare feet screamed as he stalked across the cool hardwood floor, toes curling away from the unforgiving chill as he all but threw himself into the living room. He was just in time to see live footage of Manhattan fill the screen.

Only _now_, the landmark city skyline was awash with smoke and littered with piercing towers of sharp, jagged metal, the only marks left from where buildings, businesses, and homes had once stood. _It looked like a fucking war zone.._

He breathed in sharply through his nose, shaking his head slightly as if to rid himself of the vestiges of a bad dream. But when his eyes refocused, the crumpled, burned out shells of down town New York remained. ..._Shit._

"_Breaking news: New York lost, all attempts to destroy the Manhattan Bridge in order to contain the infection has failed. We repeat: New York City is lost. The state has lost contact with all known departments of the NYPD, New York Coast Guard, localized military personnel, and the FEMA operations staged in Eastern Manhattan. The loss of life cannot even be begun to be tabulated at this time. More information will be immediately reported on this situation as it comes into the news room."_

_Christ on a fucking crutch!_

He tried calling Merle, bare feet wearing a hole in the carpeting as he redialled again and again, cursing as the dial tone assaulted his eardrums. The man's cell was out of service! The asshole never did remember to charge the damn thing.

"_China, Russia, Japan, Britain, Ireland, Scotland, Australia, and France officially close all land, sea, and air borders to all outside traffic. The use of deadly force is rumoured, but cannot be confirmed at this time."_

He left five growingly expressivemessages on his older brother's home machine before he remembered that the man was out on a week long bender with a bunch of his old prison buddies. And he hadn't heard hide or tale from him since the night, nearly a week before, when he had invited himself over to the farm stead for dinner, and had mentioned it.

"_Nation Wide Alert: All Military reserves, Policing and emergency personnel, and any remaining emergency support staff, including all coast guard units, Search and Rescue personnel, and Conservation officers have been officially recalled and deputized as of immediately. Please report to the nearest military base, reserve unit, or government law office in your state."_

It had been the first time that Merle had be back to the farm since Pop had died and cut him out of the will entirely. Merle hadn't stepped a foot back home since, even despite the fact that in a fit of brotherly compassion soon after the man had been released from prison, he had offered to share the family home. But Merle, stubborn bastard that he was, still apparently had his pride, because he refused and got himself a rented flat in a town two counties over.

Merle had called it a 'fresh start', a chance to get away from the stigmas and preconceptions that were abound in the local gossip of their small, backwater town. Away from the memories of fifteen months in solitary lock up. Away from the booze and the slow melt of his finger tips, as feverish hands prepared his next hit. But deep down, they _**both**_ knew he was lying. Because the only thing Merle had been doing was trying to run away from what he saw in the mirror every morning.

"_All contact lost with North and South Korea. Radar images obtained before the communication blackout suggests a major air strike, land shelling, and a possible ground assault initiated by the Northern country on South Korean soil. The confrontation is believed to have been provoked by action on both sides as the border between the two countries was reportedly breached on Tuesday, 6pm, standard time. There has been no statement issued from the White House on this matter at this time."_

But for some reason, as he stood there, phone in hand, and watching the news reports spewing the same old garbage, passing around theories and explanations like they were party favours at a kids birthday, all he could think about was the last time he had seen him, flying high on blow, and knowing Merle, probably a gut full of Alley juice to boot, as he roared down the farm's pot hole strewn gravel drive, revving the engine in lieu of a goodbye as he screeched off down the road.

"_Mandatory curfews are in affect for all major cities and urban areas Nation wide. Citizens are urged to use caution and not to panic. Marshal Law has been issued across America as of immediately. We repeat, America is officially under a state of Marshall Law.. These are precautionary measures that come directly from Washington in order to better ensure public safety."_

He threw the phone at the couch cushions in frustration and confusion. _The stupid bastard._

"_Mexican border officials report complete failure in their attempts to close the countries borders into the USA as massive influx of refugees continue to flee from the Southern States as the contagion threatens to spread down from the Northern States."_

"_FEMA, the Red Cross, and other Disaster relief support crews are currently assessing the worst hit areas and are expected to set up relief camps and safe zones in all major affected cities in the next forty eight hours."_

"_All reports indicate that Canada's provincial borders, from British Columbia to Ontario have been breached, with rising numbers of the infected reportedly roaming along the border lines freely. Last known news reports from the region detail that the downtown core of the city of Vancouver, British Columbia has been engulfed in a massive, city wide fire. The origins of the blaze are unknown at this time, but it is currently being reported that thus far, all attempts to bring this blaze under control has been largely ineffective as fire and emergency crews cannot be located in sufficient numbers to attack the growing blaze. Canadian government officials report that Toronto, Ottawa, and Montreal are completely overrun, even as darkness falls over the nation's capital."_

**The entire world had gone to shit. **

But perhaps more importantly, the entire world had gone to shit, and that shit was fuckin' _spreading_.

That was when it _really_ registered; they hadn't been able to stop this thing, not the military, or the government, FEMA, not even the damn CDC. And it wasn't just spreading down the Eastern sea board anymore; it was coming down from all sides, enveloping the country and the _world_ in its seemingly limitless grip.

And if things kept up the way they did, Georgia wasn't going to be out of it for long. Hell, even if they did manage to stop it, find a cure, and figure out how to put things back to rights again, there was still going to be civil unrest, panic, looters, and god only knows what else to deal with.

_Shit._

He tore himself away from the TV in the middle of a news report detailing the latest information released by the CDC. His strides quick, and uneven in his hurry as he all but flew back to his room and into his pair of jeans from the day before, only just throwing on a shirt when he was already halfway out the door, truck keys biting into the meat of his palm as he threw himself into the cab, gunning the engine all the way down the driveway and onto the crumbling country blacktop.

As he drove, he coasted through the broadcasting channels intently. But eventually he ended up having to switch the CB off in annoyance, every channel seemed chalk full of chatter, as people weighed in about growing situation from as far as the short and long bans could pick up.

He made it to Juliette, in Monroe County in just under an hour and a half, ignoring the only stop sign in the sleep little township as he breezed past Jackson's Hardware and Electrics, and that greasy old diner that he could never remember the name of, before he came to a stop in front of the only halfway decent hunting and supply store in over a hundred and fifty miles.

He glared heatedly when the hick behind the counter gave him a suspicious, beady eyed stare as he bought the man out of his stock of .30-06 shells. Sneering as those beady eyes went greedy as he threw down his rarely used American express card, telling the clerk to throw in half a dozen cross bow arrows on pure impulse. Thinking back to his last hunt only two weekends before when three of his best spare bolts had been sacrificed as he brought down a particularly large buck. The arrows had been bent beyond repair as the animal had dashed them across a low lying rock shelf in its death throws.

It had been a shame really, Pop had given him those bolts, ordered special from over seas for his fourteenth birthday to match the cross bow he had gotten the year before. He hadn't been allowed shoot anything other then blunt tips before that, with his old man being of the opinion that until you came to respect and understand a weapon, you shouldn't be allowed to fully use it. Heavy thoughts from a man who had ended up rotting out his liver and drowning himself in Johnnie Walker Swing before hitting his prime, leaving their Mama to care for two hellion boys on a 15 acre farm in the middle of buttfuck no where.

Outwardly he hadn't batted an eye as the final total had flashed an alarming, blinking crimson across the register screen. It was an amount that would have normally sent him into conniptions, but this time he simply stood silent, mind too full of what he had seen on the news the night before to pay something as mundane as a credit card bill much mind.

_Besides, he had a sneaking suspicion that it would be a good, long while before the credit card companies would come collecting anyway._

But despite all that, despite the bullets, the gas, and the thick sheets of plywood he had picked up from old mister McMurdoh's store on the way home from work the next day, when_ it_ actually came, when his world went and suddenly _changed on him_.. He just hadn't been prepared for it.

_Not one bit._

He hadn't realized that it was going to be like _this. That it __**could**__ be like this._ And what was worse, was that he hadn't been prepared for what this whole mess might actually _mean._ Not just to the world, or the country, but to him, personally.

_He had thought that he was ready for it, whatever it was. He thought he could take it and deal with it in the same ease he dealt with almost everything else in his life, whether it was the good or the bad.. But for one of the first times in his adult life, he had been wrong. Dead wrong._

Three days later, he woke up to the sound of the horses screaming.

_It was here._

The sun hadn't yet reached its peak before he was throwing his Browning BLR, his father's old Pre-64 Model 70 Featherweight, Merle's shitty Smith-Corona, his compound crossbow, and a few duffle bags full of food and other survival gear into the back of his truck. He made the trips from the truck to the house quickly, averting his eyes from the blood splattered horse ring, and the woman in the blue patterned dress, who had wispy cornbread yellow hair, and despite being quite obviously _very_ much _dead_ wouldn't stop twitching in the long grass by the front porch. Her head almost completely severed thanks to a desperate, last second swing with his hand shovel after she had caught him from behind as he went after the last of the group that had swarmed the four breeding mares that had been grazing in the front pasture.

_It wasn't safe here anymore. _

And as he looked back at the corpse strewn lawn and the blood smeared, white wash siding of his childhood home, he paused long enough to open the cattle padlocks, chicken coops, and horse pastures enough to give the animals a fighting chance.. in case he and Merle didn't make it back.

_Mama would have thought that that woulda' been the right thing to do. _

Before the lord had taken her, his twenty fifth birthday not yet a week past, she had sat him down at the worn, hand hewn kitchen table, her tired hands still dusted with flour and salt from breakfast, and had talked to him about respect. It was a lecture he had heard her give to Merle many times over, though they both knew they were words wasted. But she had never given it to him, not before that day. And it had chilled some part of him in a way he hadn't been able to define.

It was not just about the respect one man gives to another, or the kind a kid might give to their elders, but the respect one has to have towards the things that enabled them to survive. It was about respecting your _roots_, respecting the _land_ upon which you lived and worked, and the animals that kept you fed and employed._ It was about respecting the baser things in your life, the things that when melded together define your very existence. Not the 'things' that simply filled it._

And while he already knew those things, perhaps better then his mother had ever realized, lessons largely self taught throughout a childhood spent by his lonesome, kicking up dust with his bare heels in the forests, fields, and pastures that made up the majority of their property, he had still listened with great attention. Hoping to give his mama, who had been sick for far too long, cause to smile again.

And when she had passed, not a month later, he had buried her with a mound of dirt spread underneath the soles of her patented black leather shoes. Merle had let him, though he had never really understood why, the older man staying silent and uncharacteristically sombre when the service had finished and they were left alone with her.

He had been uncomfortable in his black, long sleeved dress shirt and slicked back hair. The shirt had been confining and tight, but he had ignored both the discomfort of it and Merle alike when the man had finally breezed in, smelling of cheap booze and cigarette ash as he stood there alone beside the open casket.

In fact he only acknowledged his older brother with a small nod over a quarter of a hour later, letting the man stew in his own frustration, and the heat of his biking leathers in the stuffy recycled air of the funeral home, before he finally took out that little jar of soil he had collected from all four corners of their property, and sprinkled it underneath her feet.

_Merle never did understand the nature of that kind of respect._

He shifted in the spray with noticeable discomfort, mind already punishing itself for dwelling on such things. Nothing good ever resulted out of thoughts like that. And he knew it. Forcing his thoughts back to their original course he let himself slowly relax back into the stream, painfully unclenching the fingers that he hadn't even noticed had gone tight around the edges of the hand rail as he twirled the temperature dial as far as it would go, gritting his teeth and simply taking the pleasurable pain that resulted.

When he had he hit the back country roads, bound and determined to find Merle and drag him out from whatever back water trash heap of a bar he and his buddies were haunting, it didn't take him long to realize just how much _deep shit_ they were _actually_ in.

These were _rural_ roads he was traveling on. Ones generally only used by the people of the counties that straddled them. And still the infection..or whatever the hell it was, was already far too apparent.

He remembered how he had tried not to look too closely at the distant figures that stumbled and shuffled through the wind rippled barley fields that lined the road way, half afraid that he might recognize one of them.

_He knew these people._ _He had grown up here. This was his home town. He had had his first beer, his first smoke, and his first love along this country road. Everything he had, everything he was, had been moulded from what lined the sides of this winding blacktop road._

And now he couldn't he couldn't escape from it. Because as the truck treads ate up the miles all he could see were the sights and smells of farmsteads burning. And all he could _hear_ was the sound of suddenly cut off screams, and the echoing cracks of gunshots as they rang out like fire crackers on the 4th of July in the still summer air.

It took him almost two full days to track down Merle. And by then, everything in Georgia had changed.

And as it had happened, he had arrived just in time. Merle, having apparently not watched the news any longer on any given day in the last week other then to get the weather report, was drunk, high as a fucking kite, and had had even less of a clue then usual, because he was dealing out punches left, right and center like he was in a bloody bar brawl. The man had been_ entirely _oblivious to the fact that the geeks that had him surrounded were doing their very best to sink their ugly ass _teeth_ into him. And indeed, as Merle would later tell it, he had been under the impression at the time that the group had just been really,_ really_ pissed about him cheating at pool. Although the man had refused to go into anymore detail on the matter when he had incredulously asked how the man had missed the fact that most of the geeks had been covered in blood, sporting bite marks and severed limbs like they were rejects from a Romero film. So, in a way, he still wasn't quite sure what to make of the mans answer.

_Ignorance, for the short time it had lasted, must have been fuckin' bliss._

He hadn't even hesitated as he had thrown himself into the fray. The man might be a stubborn asshole, but he _was_ his _brother_ after all.

As it was, he had only managed to slam the second last sucker upside the head with a shovel just as the last son of a bitch got a hold of Merle's shoulder blade and was angling his head downward for the bite.

They had dealt with that one together, Merle delivering a bone crunching uppercut right into the deadhead's exposed throat, sending it reeling backwards just as he brought the business end of his shovel down front and center across the top of its head. And for a moment it felt just like the old days, the days _before_ Merle's stint in prison, before he started maintaining the crack and the booze like normal people did water, disappearing for weeks at a time and getting into god only knows what sorts of trouble. _Back before the prison time that had stripped him down and hollowed him out of everything important, everything that had made Merle, Merle, imperfect parts and all. Back in the days where despite being an asshole, and an idiot to boot, Merle had still cared enough to act like his brother. Like his blood. _

But that moment was over almost before it had even begun, because Merle had been so fucking high he hadn't even recognized _him_, even after the douche bag's fist had connected with the side of his head, sending his vision blurring and head throbbing and he was forced to bring his own brother down to the ground with a divisive chop to the back of his knees, holding Merle still on the grimy, blood speckled floor, surrounded on all sided by downed walkers, as he tried to talk sense into him.

_It had been a long ass wait._

But once the stupid bastard had finally come down, and they had a chance to actually talk the whole mess through they decided that the best course left to them was to just get the hell 'outta dodge. Find the most remote place and hole up together, ride out the worst of it until the Calvary decided to come barrelling in.

Only now he snorts at that pipe dream, shaking his shaggy head into the slowly cooling stream at his own foolishness. Because there hadn't been any Calvary. No help, no damn military or government neither. _Nothing. They had been left on their own. Left to survive or die._

_Typical. It just went to show what he already knew. You couldn't count on anyone else. The only person you could count on was __**yourself**__._

He leaned his fist against his forehead in bad temper, the burn of that injustice still percolating deep in his gut, simmering as he eyed the falling water almost hypnotically, watching as it streamed down the length of his lightly muscled calves before gurgling and swirling down the drain.

But regardless, despite his lack of faith in the system, the government, and virtually everyone else, even then, as cynical and paranoid as he was, he would have never thought things could have ended up like _this_.

_Never._

The last few days before the radios and TV ceased broadcasting entirely were the worst. With the headlines changing from warnings and health advisories, to phrases like: "_America overrun",_ _"Major cities fall"_, _"The President, Joint Chiefs, and Councillors remain unaccounted for after Air Force One fails to take off from it's scheduled emergency flight at Andrews Air force base. No word on the welfare of the President, First family, or the Vice President at this time.."_

People were beginning to realize just what it was that they were facing. And it tore the country..no the _world_ apart. Mass hysteria and panic had just been the _beginning_. But it was a realization gleaned far too late. No one realized, no one _believed_ what they were hearing until it was too late to do much about it.

The dipshits in Washington tried to maintain order, and assure the country that a solution was in the making. But it was too late. Nation wide, the people in the bigger cities panicked, flooding the highways and freeways just like the dumb bastards did in Atlanta. Turning the highways into death traps as hundreds of thousands of people piled onto the fastest and quickest routes out of the cities.

And most of them died there. _Meals on fuckin' wheels as far as the geeks were concerned._ Evacuating people were made easy targets when accidents, panic, and vehicles running clean out of gas quickly brought traffic to a standstill. He had even heard of people turning still locked up tight and belted into their car seats. No one knew then that it was the _bites_ that did it. _That brought you back._

But by then the virus had spread like wildfire, as people who had been previously bit or scratched by the fuckers somehow managed to escape, and turned somewhere public, like the hospitals, safe points, or rescue centers.

_That's why none of them lasted very long. All you had to do is let __**one**__ in. All it takes is one bite, one scratch. And then it is sayonara safe point. There just hadn't been enough bullets to deal with them all._

There had been some hope though, hope that they had all clung to in those first few days, already knee deep in the dead fuckers, desperately searching, fighting, and trying to find a safe place away from all the madness, with the last television broadcast he saw reporting that NATO forces were undertaking a massive multi-nation regrouping of it's central forces. With the reports suggesting that a number of remote northern Canadian bases not used since the Cold War were being relegated and reopened for use in the mission.

In the beginning it had made sense to everyone. The Canadian north was relatively isolated, especially around those particular military bases. There had even been rumours, spread across the CB that talked about scattered reports someone had heard of some areas up there that hadn't seen even one instance of the infection. He had called bullshit on that, but he _had_ put stock in the NATO rumour. If they _were_ going to regroup anywhere, that sounded like as good a place as any.

And for a long time, everyone held out hope that the military would save them. But one by one the military bases, safe zones, and rescue centers were overrun. And the NATO forces that were supposedly amassing in the Canadian north were never heard from again.

_If they ever existed in the first place._

The last radio report they heard, only five days after the infection had spread like wildfire through the States, came as they were driving down through the outskirts of Newton County, dodging the few roaming dead heads they did see as they carefully swerved around the countless abandoned vehicles that dotted the trash and debris strewn roads. The signal was weak, but nevertheless audible. It was a simple message, eerily cut short, and never again repeated, as if the person that had been broadcasting had simply blipped out of existence the moment the sentence had left his lips.

"**Its true people, **_**they**__**are**_** dead. No one knows how..or why. But what we do know is that it's the bites bring them back. **_**That's**_** how it spreads. Avoid contact with the infected at all costs. All methods save for direct trauma to the brain has thus far been reported to be ineffective. I repeat, it has been reported that the only way to stop a walker is get them in the head. It-" **

And that was it. That was when the radios went dead. He and Merle had only shared a look over the trucks dashboard. There hadn't been much they _could_ say.

It had been like being stuck in a bad movie. This shit just didn't happen in real life. In fact, in the first few days, soon after he was directly confronted with the evidence of just how much the world had changed, he kept half expecting to wake up, slumped over on the couch with a humdinger of a hangover, a nasty ass taste in his mouth, and to have this whole mess turn out to be some nightmare fuelled by a particularly bad bottle of bootlegged tequila.

Only he never did. 'Aint that just a bitch.

He refused to blink away the sting as a trickle of shampoo seeped down into the corner of his eye. Shaking his head instead, he pointed his face directly into the spray, embracing the hot sting as the water streamed down the sensitive skin of his face.

Stretching up into the running water, he let loose a series of gruff, pleased sounds as the hot water pelted forcefully across his chest, sending his skin tingling with the pleasure of it. _God, it felt good to be clean again._

Turning back to the shower dispenser he eyed down the shower gel section critically before finally realizing that he was limited to one of two choices, Old Spice, or something called Axe body wash that glowed a toxically vibrant, day glow blue from the clear section of the container. _Old Spice it was_.

Curling his upper lip he bypassed the frilly looking loofa entirely. Recalling even as he amassed a generous pile of the body wash in his palm, a conversation he had overheard between Amy, Andrea, and Lori in the first few weeks after 'Atlanta fell, where they had argued quite heatedly that the 'loofa' was both a women's _and_ men's shower amenity.

He hadn't said anything at the time, too busy being secretly amused by the horrified looks on Morales and T-Dawg's faces as the women had nattered on about it. But now, when directly confronted by it, he made a noted point of ignoring the poufy looking thing. Instead, he slathered the gel across his skin himself, letting his fingers spread the lather, methodically digging his hands into his sore muscles as he slowly worked the gel into a pungently clean smelling froth.

_God help him, but he was going to scrub so hard his ancestors were going to feel the friction burn…_

He didn't leave the shower stall until he had leached every single drop of warm water from the taps. His skin an over scrubbed, irritated red, was already throbbing at the unaccustomed abuse, and yet, it was purely because of that, that the barest hint of a smile was playing along the corners of his lips.

_It felt good to feel clean again. There was no way to get around it. It was something integral, even central to how he lived, how he existed and carried himself. He couldn't quite explain it, but it felt as if a part of his humanity had been restored, reincarnated from the filthy ashes and mouldering soils, back into light, heat, and life once more._

He took a moment to look down at the trail of clothes he had left, shucked on the spot as he had made his way to the shower. Curling his lip, he eyed them critically; he could practically smell them from the distance. As it was, he was half tempted to just chuck them down the nearest garbage chute and forget about them. But in reality, as much as the thought actually appealed to him, he knew he couldn't afford to. He had practically no clothes left to him as it was.

Still, he was at loath to put on filthy clothes again, especially after finally being properly clean for the first time in months. Swearing under his breath he flipped aside his worn out, gore encrusted jeans, chucking them behind him as he hunted through the smelly pile.

His underwear in particular looked decidedly rank. And quite quickly he made a swift, command decision. There was no way in _hell_ that he was putting on those shorts again. Not until they had been washed, boiled, and preferably bleached to shit. After all, there was only so much good a scrubbing board and luke warm water could do to a man's johns.

Wrapping a towel around his waist he exited the bathroom in a comfortable billow of steam, still luxuriating despite the indulgence, in the feeling of the deep, heated warmth that still tingled below the skin, the kind of feeling that only a hard scrubbing in the shower can produce.

Seeing no other choice save for leaving his 'bits hanging in the breeze he tightened the towel around his waist and stalked into the main room, eyes intent on the dressers that lined the eastern most wall of the room.

With a glare he leaned down and started to paw through the clothes filled drawers, almost tripping over an upturned guitar and an open, empty suitcase left strewn across the carpet. The carpet itself was akin to an obstacle course, with the previous owners personal effects spread across the floor in a blur of scientific papers, closed laptops, and small piles of dirty clothing, with even a white lab coat thrown half hazardly over the back of one of the desk chairs.

He paused only to arch a guarded brow when he finally located the underwear drawer, critically taking in the very uniformly rolled pairs of boxers and briefs that lined it in muted astonishment.

_People actually __**rolled**__ their underthings?_ Fuckin' mental. _No wonder the world went to shit._

He had never been one to wear another mans shorts, even if he _did_ have none that were clean. But now, as he pawed through the neatly folded piles, he supposed that beggars couldn't really be choosers.

_Besides, he figured that by now, the world owed it to him to cut him a bit of slack every once and a while._

He had only just returned to the bathroom, eyeing his facial hair critically as he angled his face in the large mirror, a calloused palm rubbing idly across his prickly cheeks as he tried to decide if he really needed a shave or not, when a _knock_ echoed unexpectedly _from the main door._

"_There are two big forces at work, external and internal. We have very little control over external forces such as tornadoes, earthquakes, floods, __**disasters**__, illness and pain. __**What really matters is the internal force. How do I respond to those **__**disasters**__**? Over that I have complete control.**__" - _Leo F. Buscaglia

**Glossary:**

-_**Alley Juice**_is slang for: non-beverage isopropyl and methyl alcohol. Because as we all know from the second episode, Merle is a naughty, naughty boy. Also, crack is bad. Don't do drugs kids. You'll end up like Merle, hand impaired and slightly insane. True story. Hee.

- _**.30-06**_is a Springfieldcartridge (pronounced "thirty-aught-six", "thirty-oh-six") It remains a very popular sporting round, with ammunition produced by all major manufacturers. The .30-06's power (combined with the availability of surplus firearms chambered for it and demand for commercial ammunition) has kept the round as one of the most popular for hunting in North America. With appropriate loads it is suitable for any small or large game found in North America.

-_**Johnnie Walker Swing **_is a brand of Scotch whisky owned by Diageo and originated in Kilmarnock, Ayrshire, Scotland. It is the most widely distributed brand of blended Scotch whisky in the world, sold in almost every country with yearly sales of over 130 million bottles. This particular type is supplied in a distinctive bottle whose irregular bottom allows it to rock back and forth. It was Alexander II's last blend: it features a high proportion of Speyside malts, complemented by malts from the northern Highlands and Islay, and is "almost as sweet as a bourbon."


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters. Wishful thinking aside.

**Warnings:** See original chapter for a complete list of warnings. This particular chapter will contain significant adult language, and makes allusions to possible drug use. It is also pertinent to forewarn you, that this particular chapter marks the beginning of the more 'slashy' bits. So those who don't like even _hints_ of the slashy goodness that many of us know and love, you might want to skitter off around this point. (Mild Slash)

**Authors Note:** Please read and review. I am excited to see what you all think. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism. In addition, I wanted to send a quick thank you to my reviewers. The encouragement and constructive criticism it provides makes the writing process that much more enjoyable! You guys are the wind beneath my typing fingers. I adore you all!

**Rotation – **_**Chapter 3**_

More surprised then anything; he quickly grabbed his dirty jeans from the pile on the floor. Noticing, despite himself, how his clean skin seemed to rebel against the gritty texture of the soiled material.

He didn't even **want **to think about the last time they had been washed, feeling as though the actual answer might be worse then even his most generous estimations. _Hell, even the fabric was still suspiciously damp…_

He bit back his disgust however; skin only flinching marginally as he pulled them on over his borrowed shorts before poking his head out of the bathroom door, tension knotting in between his shoulders blades like a taunt bowstring.

He cocked his head at the echoes, his keen hearing able to discern the very moment when knuckle met wood. _The sound of the index and middle finger knuckle were the most prominent, separated in strength and force from the rest.. Decidedly masculine perhaps?_

The knock had been firm and confident, with no apparent hesitation or trepidation in its action. It had been a calm, if not overly confident sound that held no indication of panic or fear. It was sedate, but firm and he arched a guarded brow as he took in the sound.

One could tell a lot about a person by how they knocked on someone's door. It was like a handshake, entirely unique to a person's personality, mood or even intentions. Showing more about a person then they would likely ever realize, or even admit to.

_He had always noticed things like that. Matching people to a particular tone of sounds.. Each one different in form, pitch and weight.. Much like a signature._

He had found it to be such a remarkably accurate judge of character that he had used it repeatedly throughout the years, vastly to his benefit. After all, it was always good to get a heads up as to who might be knocking at your door out in the boondocks at the dead of night.

_To him it was practically common sense to pay attention to those kind of things…_

So perhaps, in this case, that's why the most _irritating _thing about that sound, was the fact that despite having been essentially living alongside these people for over two whole months, for reasons beyond him, he couldn't seem to put a face behind the action. No name immediately floated to mind, not a face, nor even the merest hint. And since he prided himself on such instinctive recognition, annoyance quickly began to override his curiosity and surprise.

He eyed the door that led out to the hall, weighing the decision consideringly for a few long beats before he decided to ignore it altogether. Last time he checked walkers didn't knock. And besides that, none of the others had anything much he particularly wanted to hear anyway.

_God only knows what they were bothering him with now.. They were takers. Ignorant, hungry mouths disguised as everyday people.. Responsibilities. _

_Hell with'em._

Walking those few, short steps back into the heady, steam-filed bathroom felt a lot like coming home. And he revelled in the thick, sluggish way that the heavy air slipped; slick and dew-ridden down his lungs. It was something familiar, relatable.. Like something that he had had _before_.

_Something that was still… good._

Strapping on his belt knife, he curled his bare toes into the cool bathroom tile, wriggling the bruised digits on his left foot experimentally to ensure that none of them were broken, having somehow jammed them against the ends of his steel toed boots midst the rush in between grabbing his gear from the truck and high tailing it back to the CDC doors before the scientist closed them up.

There had been literally no time, as they had dodged walkers and jumped over the concrete barriers and the sand bag barricades as they raced back from the vehicles. Glenn, Rick, T-Dog, and Shane all running flat out and heavy beside him, their breaths strained and heavy as days running on too little sleep, and far too empty stomachs began to make themselves known.

He had been surprised at the how exhilarating it had been, knowing that for the first time since the world had gone to hell, an unknown safety loomed ahead, even as the entrance and parking lot by their vehicles was steadily filling up with walkers. There had been too many of them to fight, too many to even _think_ of trying. And that left them with only with the fleetness of their feet and the strength of their reflexes as they kicked up the sod on the corpse strewn grounds behind them, skidding through the door almost as one, hardly even slowing down as they barrelled full-tilt through the doors.

_But instead of thoughts of freedom, or even relief, all he could think about as those doors slammed shut, the echoes of the sound chasing each other, hollow and despondent down through the empty hallways, was how discomforting he found the place. And how, almost right way, he decided that he didn't much like the strange sound their footsteps made as they slapped across the pristine marble tiles. Unused to the sharp, metallic echoes after so many weeks spent with the soft dirt and forest muck under their feet._

_He had almost forgotten. How could you forget something like that?_

It had been a sort of exhilaration that had been cut with the rough edges of tempered anticipation, and fringed with the barest hints of disappointment. The kind of disappointment that comes with the release of the finger pressing down against the trigger, and the sharp fleshy sound the arrow makes as it pierces through flesh. …Signalling that it all _might just_ be over…

_And really.. He didn't know what to think about that.. It was a damn fool thing to think about.. He knew that. And yet…_

He was only just thinking about searching through the drawers again, this time for a clean shirt, seriously considering the merits of heading out to inspect the place after having drunk more Southern Comfort and red wine in one sitting then he had had in a long time, when it happened..

As apparently, the reprieve wasn't meant to be. Because he had forgotten to take into account two very important things. _One_, with the power cut to a minimum, the electronic doors that led out to the hallway _didn't_ lock, a serious design flaw in a building that was supposed to house and study some of the most dangerous viral shit known to mankind, if you asked him. And _Two_, apparently he wasn't the only one that needed a brush up on their manners and common courtesy around here.

Because by the time the third series of knocks had echoed out throughout the room, his keen ears picked up the sound of the springs in the door handle bunching, and then audibly releasing…

_What the bloody fuck?_

Anger and irritation momentarily overwhelmed the slow burn of the Southern Comfort still cycling, thick, and pleasantly warm in his gut. And he wrenched himself away from the bathroom counter at once, the action made fluid with his rising anger as all thoughts of a quick shave were abruptly forgotten.

He rounded the corner out of the bathroom in a swift flurry of movement, bare feet slapping against the tiles with vicious intent as he stalked out into the main room, steaming mad and ready to rip whoever it was, a new arse to shit out of for invading his privacy..

But as he entered into the main room, stepping over the pile of his own discarded clothes as he did so, his mind went blank with surprise… And for the second time that evening, surprise and confusion burbled like flowing water across the surface of his mind.

It was the kid.._Glenn_..

The younger man was flushed, punch drunk, and looking right at him with that big, easy smile he had seen the man occasionally sport throughout the weeks he had known him. Only now, ever since the grub and the booze it had somehow seemed to have gone _megawatt_, apparently flipped on permanently as the thoughts of _safety_ and _shelter _continued to sink in.. Something that made them think that maybe.. _just maybe_ they had found a place away from it all, away from the horror and the pain, the hunger, the fear, and the uncertainty.

_And it looked good on him.. _

The kid was just standing there, bold as brass, pale skin all rose flushed and sated looking from his own shower. The man obviously couldn't hold his drink worth a damn because already he was wavering slightly in place, looking far too content as he dripped water all over the carpet, apparently oblivious to the fact that he was walking around in public looking like he was wearing a house coat that had been nicked from Andre the Giants wardrobe.

The kid looked friggin' ridiculous, yet somehow, entirely endearing. And it_ made no sense..because it felt like it was something _he could get.._used_ to.

_And wasn't __**that**__ just a thought._

The anger that had been simmering, burbling up from his gut like nausea, curled up and died just like the sneer he had slapped across his face as he had rounded the corner. With all thoughts of protest and harsh words curling up and dying before they could even so much as leave his lips.

It was something that for reasons beyond him, only served to make his irritation and rising discomfort grow. Because the problem was, he didn't _do_ discomfort.. In fact, he was usually the one doling it out. And now that he was on the opposing end he found that he didn't like the role reversal one bit..

And maybe he was drunker then he thought, with too much booze in a gut too unused to the feeling of a full stomach. Because for some reason, his mind was suddenly focusing in on the little things, on things that he didn't usually notice or pay any attention to, now suddenly backlit in day glow colors like a bad hotel on the Vegas strip.

_He didn't understand it. The source.. Where was this shit even coming from?_

Because he was _sure_ that he had never really thought about things like the way the mans dark eyes and equally as dark hair reflect in the light, making his pale, almost ivory coloured skin seem to glow in the bright overhead lights. Or the way his scent seemed to have changed, now a powerhouse medley of shampoo and shaving cream, that was somehow not enough to mask a scent that before now he had only ever gotten a mere whiff of, always muted under layers of sweat, death and grime.

And now that it was noticeable, practically strong enough to leap up and do the two step in his nostrils, it took him a moment to realize that it was actually the man's natural, baser scent.

It was as hard to define, as it was overwhelming …Yet somehow, at the same time it was just very.._Glenn.._

But he supposed that if he was forced to categorize it, he might say it was exotic. It was enticing, _different_, boldly spiced and decidedly foreign to his discriminating southern nose. But it fit him. He wasn't sure why, but it _smelled_ like _him_, like it was _right._

_Hell. _Forget the damned booze. Maybe the god damned _food_ had been drugged. Here he was carrying on about a smell. On another _man_ no less. That scientist, Jenner, or whatever the hell his name was, looked_ just_ shifty enough to be capable of pulling something like that.

But that train of thought quickly became overruled as a long neglected corner of his brain shook off it's metaphorical dust covers and piped up to remind him that he had never really had much of a problem looking at other guys like that. He had played for both sides of the field on more then one occasion.

Because despite having Merle for an older bother, the fact was that he had actually inherited very few of the older man's hang-ups. The way he saw it, like any red blooded American male, he liked sex. And therefore saw no sense in limiting what he got based on gender. Especially since he found that both forms generally appealed to him.

_He had never really examined it much further then that._

Merle didn't know of course. And god willing he never would. The less he knew about _that_ part of his life the less that pea brain of his would explode. Merle might be his big brother, but he _really was_ all kinds of an asshole. Besides it wasn't like he advertised it or anything. He wasn't 'no fruitcake that secretly hankered to wear tight jeans and a pink sweater vest or any of that shit. _No fuckin' way._

It was just that Glenn, the kid… _Hell. _He could practically be his kid brother for Christ sakes. For the love of god, the kid still had _dimples_! In fact, the Korean still had the look of a kid only _just_ weaned off clutching his Mama's apron strings, still wide eyed and innocent looking in a way that he just _couldn't_ understand. Especially considering their circumstances..

_It was Mental._

And yeah, while he was busy _**deluding**_ himself, he might as well go for broke and pretend that the moon was really just a big o' pizza pie floating in the sky. Or even better, that there _weren't_ about fifty million dumb, dead bastards walking the streets that were jonesing to sink their teeth into his sweet, back country ass.

Because if he was honest with himself. That wasn't really true at all. Sure the kid was young, probably around twelve or thirteen years his junior. But he was a scrappy little thing with enough spunk, fight, and smarts in him that it made him seemed beyond his years. The kid was resourceful, a hunter of sorts in his own way. Only his turf was the concrete slabs and hard edged mazes of urban Atlanta rather then his own stomping grounds on the back country roads and rough wilderness.

He had seen the man in action, and he had liked what he saw. The Korean was good..._a survivor._

The kid was a lot like Grimes, but not as damned stupid. He was just the right mix between rationality and risk that had made the man immediately appeal to him. It had made him pause, take note, and _not_ write the kid off as a total loss in the first few days after he and Merle had chanced upon catching a brief glimpse of their campfire one night through the thick tree line along the rough, back country road they were travelling on. It had been the first sign of life, _real life_, that they had seen in over four days. And the decision they had made to investigate it had been unanimous, with even Merle seeming uncommonly eager at the idea of seeing _other_ people again. _Other survivors. _

It had been too much to pass up.

And while they hadn't been expecting the scattered remnants of a Militia or _hell_, even the bloody _Marines_, he _hadn't_ been able to hold back his disgust at the fact that seemingly the only survivors to make it out of Atlanta were an odd ball collection that included a high strung Sheriff's deputy packing a Mossberg and an itchy trigger finger, an Asian kid that looked like he had raided a little leagues dug out for spare clothes, a quiet, grubby looking mechanic, a handful of kids, a douche bag wife beater and his twitchy spouse, a couple of knock out, bleach blond sisters, a bunch of other women, an old fart in a bucket hat, and a handful of other assorted _cannon fodder_ that he knew he would never care to learn the names of.

Within two hours of pulling into the place, he had already made plans to confer with Merle and head out on their own again by the next morning, leaving this sorry little excuse for a camp choking in the quarry dust the truck tires would kick up behind them.

But then, just after dawn the next morning the kid had tumbled gracefully from his tent, with that easy loose-legged grace iconic to his age. The sound of the man unzipping his tent had roust him awake and immediately into alertness from the passenger seat of his old truck, with them having arrived far too late in the night, and far too uncertain on the nature of the locals to trust bedding down beside them quite yet.

He had watched the younger man closely, leaning back into the faded, threadbare seat cover as he looked over the dusty dashboard. With Merle stretched out and snoring, entirely dead to the world in the back of the open truck bed behind him.

And as he had expected, as the Korean finished shrugging into a short sleeved button up, mashing on a maroon baseball cap over his messy, jet black hair, his eyes inevitably tracked over to the truck.

_And_ _he met them_, tilting his head only perceptively in acknowledgement, as he glared back. Thinking at the time, that a little bit of intimidation right off the bat would only serve to set his intentions straight, and let the man know that he wasn't interesting in being friendly, or even fuckin' civil.

Only the kid took the motion for something else entirely and instead of a returning glare, he sent him back a crooked hand little wave and a small, careful smile before he leaned down and retrieved the baseball bat leaning against his tent, palming the handle even as he turned away and headed towards the RV.

The man exchanged a few, quick words with the burly Mexican on watch atop the old Winnebago before the older man nodded, and tossed down a single, sharply glinting key that the kid caught easily, a grin spreading across his lips as gave the man a jaunty, faux salute before he took off.

_Something that in itself had made him wonder how the hell these people had actually survived for as long as they had.. You didn't just give away your only means of a quick and easy escape. That was one hell of a risk, trust or no trust._

The kid had left with remarkably little fanfare, with everyone but the man on watch still fast asleep in their tents, as he drove that crappy little beater down the long, winding road that led up down from the mountain quarry. And yet, as the hours had passed he had been quietly fascinated at how the others seemed to actually _care._ Not just about the kid bringing back food and supplies, or the return of the vehicle…but after the kids _well being.._

And when he had returned, far enough into the evening that he had almost everyone on edge, he rolled into camp wearing an easy, triumphant grin, and bearing a backseat piled high with canned goods and packages of toilet paper. And yet, before anyone even started paying attention to what had been brought back, the kid was thoroughly hugged and congratulated. All but blushing under the attention he was basking in, especially from the women.

_Like he said, not a complete loss._

He had recognized the potential there; the man had it in spades. Much like him, he saw that that the kid had the potential to survive through this mess. _To live. _Which was more then he could say for the others..

And he realized quite suddenly that he was quickly running out of excuses as to why he shouldn't, and was vastly approaching the point where both his brain and his dick were starting to wonder, _'Why the hell not?'_

He really couldn't figure it out. Despite all the younger man's charms, and admitted strengths, it all came down to the fact that the kid just _wasn't_ the type that he generally went for. Because all else considered, the point was he had _never_ really gone for the lithe, smooth skinned, youthful type. _He really hadn't._

He had had a lot of time to consider it over the past few months, self denial not withstanding. And he just couldn't figure the kid out, or his own thoughts on the man for that matter. He had no idea how he had come to describe the Korean as something akin to _sin incarnate_ no matter if he was wet, dry, happy, or pissed to hell.

_Only now, all he could think about was that now, he couldn't imagine why not._

It had to be said that he was inevitably more…_selective_ with the men he chose to shack up with then the women. He enjoyed women liberally. There was just something about the way their skin, so smooth and perfect, felt against his own, malleable and soft under his rough, calloused hands. Or the feel of their long hair as it trailed down his chest, splaying across his arms and tricking along the dip where his neck met his shoulder that often made them more prominently desirable.

He liked them generously breasted, supple in the hips, long in the leg, and _begging_ for it.

In fact he had only ever been with three guys in his life, and they were never _really_ what he would call a relationship. Not in the common sense of the word anyway. Rather, more like long standing, mutual arrangements.

They had all been long distance affairs, where every couple of weeks one of them would drive a few hundred miles to some out of the way hotel where no one asked too many questions. They had been men much like him, similar in build, personality, and circumstance. Men too caught up in old habits and other peoples expectations to ever fully change. He had never been able to bring any of them home, he knew better.

_..Too many risks._

He knew well enough that not everyone was as open minded as himself, least of all his hick brother and the people that made up their backwards little _asswipe_ of a southern Georgian town.

And because of that, he supposed, everything else aside, that he had just never given himself licence to have what he really wanted. So in the end _that_ was why he inevitably ended up ending them. Because passion aside, he knew that he was never going to move away from the farm. It was in his blood, and he could no sooner change that then carry the world on his back. And eventually, he had had to make peace with that. With the fact that because of that decision he _wouldn't always _be able to have what he wanted.

_Or, until now, at least he __**thought**__ he had.._

Because here he was, _staring_ at the man in front of him, who was_ still _was just _standing_ there, his jet black hair plastered to his skull, porcelain skin flushed in the soft overhead lights as his skin reflected back with a thin sheen of moisture, water still trickling down his bare calves from his own shower.

He shifted in place, bare toes scuffing audibly against the dip where the bathroom tiles met the plush, tan coloured carpet. The silence felt a lot like suffocating. So uncharacteristically he finally broke it, running his hand through his damp hair in a careless gesture as he glared at the man standing across from him.

"What?" He barked, the word sounding far more harsh and biting then his had intended as his irritation and discomfort with the lack of control he seemed to have over the situation only mounted.

But true to form, the kid didn't even seem to notice, instead giving him another slow, syrupy smile as he had the decency to look somewhat sheepish, stuffing his hands in the housecoats oversized pockets as he rocked back and forth on the heels of his bare feet.

"Hey man, you got any towels?" The kid responded, acting as if he had merely _just _walked in, and hadn't been the sole participant of about a minute long staring contest.

He did actually, a whole god damned stack.

He should have been mad, told him to go to hell, shoved him back out into the hallway and let one of the others give him one. But still, that didn't stop him from wondering why in the seven fiery hells that the kid had chosen him out of all the others to come begging to. Last time he checked the kid had laid claim to one of the first rooms in the hallway, right beside Grimes and his family, where as he had picked the second last one on the far left side of the hall

Only he didn't, he _couldn't_. And he had no idea why.

Instead he stalked back into the washroom, throwing the shirt that had been hanging across his shoulder down on the counter, and grabbed the kid one from the top of the stack.

_Gettin' soft Dixon.._

It was only when he had returned, turning back around the corner with the towel in hand that he realised that Glenn had stopped talking. He had been babbling on about something to do with the shower in his own room, and the strange shower amenities that the previous owner seemed to have enjoyed, apparently unfazed at the fact that he had yet to say anything back in return.

But that all abruptly came to a rather, sudden, and screeching stop, because in the absence of the smooth, lilting words heralded the return of that same, _weighty_ silence.

Only this time, the kid was staring, _really staring. _He was looking at him like he had never really seen him before him. There was no mistaking it, no second guessing or misassumptions. He knew that look, the only thing was that he wasn't used to being so blatantly on the receiving end..

_Christ. _

Glenn was gazing at him in much the same way as_ he_ himself did in the moments before taking some sweet southern thing high heels to Jesus. It was a considering look… An appreciative look… A _heated look_.

Huh. Well. That was just…_unexpected._

And for reasons that he couldn't quite explain, and honestly, at this point in the night, and after _that_ much Southern Comfort, really didn't want to even _start_ thinking about, his mouth went desert dry, a stark contrast between the water from his shower that was still sliding down his skin, and slicking back his hair.

He cleared his throat pointedly, throwing the kid the towel from the distance, and feeling oddly satisfied as the man struggled to catch it in time, only to end up with a face full of soft, plush cotton.

After a long beat the kid disentangled himself from the heavy fabric, grin still firmly entrenched across his face as quickly warbled out a happy sound sounding 'Thank you'.

Only, the kid _didn't_ leave.

He ended up just standing there, feeling antsy and listless as he struggled to hide his surprise and confusion by pointedly glaring at the man, even as the kid began briskly running a section of the towel against his scalp, chattering on in lieu of his lack of response, about the fact that there were _"real beds and everything." _As if this were some sort of a groundbreaking, new development in household decorating rather then a piece of furniture that was generally the most prominent feature in every bedroom in America.

_Unbelievable. The kid must have some balls, or no survival instinct at all to stand there in the middle of the room he all but broke into, towel drying his bloody hair.._

"Isn't this place great?" He piped up, still sounding beyond enthused at their unexpected run of luck, his voice momentarily muffled underneath the thick white cotton.

And then, without another word, nor sign of warning, the man flashed him another hugely open smile before he shuffled his bare toes across the carpet and bid him good night. With the expression on the man's face as he left, exiting the room in a whirl of electric static and fresh smelling skin, leaving him with the nagging feeling that he had _somehow_ _**missed**_ something vitally important..

He blinked at the sudden stillness.

And in the moments after the younger man had tottered out, leaving him still half naked, irritated, and a whole lot confused, he crossed quickly over towards the dresser and tossed back five overgenerous shots of Southern Comfort and resolved not to think anymore till morning.

The potent Georgian liqueur burned as it slid down his throat. But for some reason the iconic syrupy peach and citrus tinted liquor no longer tasted the same. Because for some reason, as he let the strong brew linger in the back of his throat, all he could taste in it's place was the tinge of bad intentions, and the growing aftertaste of confusion.

….He was late for breakfast the next day.

"_Only after disaster can we be resurrected." Chuck Palahniuk_

**A/N:** Please let me know what you think? Reviews and constructive critiquing are love!


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters. Though if they gave it to be I certainly wouldn't say no.

**Warnings:** See original chapter for a complete list of warnings. This particular chapter will contain significant adult language, makes allusions to possible drug use and violence. It is also pertinent to forewarn you, that this particular chapter marks the beginning of the more 'slashy' bits. So those who don't like even _hints_ of the slashy goodness that many of us know and love, you might want to skitter off around this point. (So in other words, mild Slash)

**Authors Note:** Please read and review. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism. The encouragement and constructive criticism your reviews provide makes the writing process that much more enjoyable!

***Sorry for the long wait! I got uninspired, then busy, then well.. you get the drift. I am not sure if there is any more interest in this story due to the long wait, so if you want to see more, let me know if you are still interested!**

**Rotation – **_**Chapter 4**_

It wasn't until about a week after that moment at the CDC, after the rising smell of cordite and charred flesh chased them out of suburban Atlanta, the very air crackling, stagnant and almost devoid of oxygen as the foreboding plumes rose in their rear view mirrors, that he began to realize just how monumentally _screwed_ he was.

_Only just not in the literal sense. And perhaps, if he dug right down to the heart of it, that might __**actually**__ be part of the whole god damned problem._

It was almost as if since that very night, someone had stuck their grubby, meddling little hands clear into his brain and rewired the damn thing. It felt like a part of his consciousness had been somehow reassigned… redirected. _Changed. _Because now it had the kids name stamped all over it.

… _In permanent fucking marker._

It made him want to slam his head right through the god damn wall! Because maybe then, if he was lucky enough, he'd knock himself out clean and not have to think about this giant cluster fuck of a situation anymore. _He wasn't used to this. Whatever this shit actually was.._

It had started off with the little things. _Innocent things._ Like when he would catch himself keeping an eye on the kid. Seemingly always aware of where the man was in proximity to himself, especially if he was outside the relative safety of camp. It was even worse when they were on the road, because in the cramped quarters of the cab of his truck there was just no escaping it. Whether it was the animosity of his own thoughts or the kid himself it didn't matter. The damage had already been done.

And he had eventually resigned himself to that fact whenever they put tire to pavement. Puttering along in their daft little convoy, gas gauges flirting with empty and motors all but screaming at the abuse. Because every once and a while, when they stopped to confer or make a decision on where to hole up for the night, it was almost a given that the kid would catch his eye in the middle of a lithe, long armed stretch, and give him _that_ _look_ until he finally gave in and crooked his head in grudging affirmation.

Every god damned time he was struck by the openness of it, the easy pleasure at the granting of such a simple unspoken request. He didn't know what to make of it, even on the best of days. It was a look did _something_ strange to his insides, something that he still wasn't quite sure about. But before his brain had time to start making a fuss, the kid would already be grinning back at him, throwing his bag in the back of the cab, and swinging himself up into the seat beside him. Something that he would regret about twenty seconds later as the man proceeded to talk his ear off for the rest of the god damned drive.

The kid didn't even know the _meanin' _of quiet.

The whole thing made his hackles rise. He looked out for _himself_ and _himself only_. He didn't do responsibilities or excess baggage. _He never had. _Though he figured that statement would be a whole lot more impressive, and indeed truthful if he actually _lived_ by that example. Because last time he checked, for some nefarious, unknown reason, he was _still_ here. Living and travelling with the others, the _takers._ And if _that _wasn't excess baggage he didn't know _what was_.

_Apparently somewhere along the line, that too had changed. _

But soon things started getting out of hand. Because pretty soon after the CDC, he realized that he wasn't the only one doing it. In fact it slowly built to a point, as the days and weeks progressed, where if given a choice, the younger man would squeeze in beside him at the campfire, apparently oblivious to the fact that there was a myriad of other spaces available elsewhere. Indeed it became so common place that the action eventually ceased to surprise either him or the others. _Not that he ever understood it however._

Even more maddening was how it seemed as though every time he glanced the kids way, he was getting a look right back. The rub however was that he was _used_ to people watching him. Hell, the first week after meeting the others Shane had practically ridden his ass like a wood tick on a huntin' dog's rump. Poised for them to misstep, even if it was by an inch, anything to justify kicking them out. Indeed whether it had been a shifty glance from a passerby, or the assessing glare of a cowpoke upstart or a wet behind the ears wannabe biker at the bar on a crowded Friday night, people always seemed to have a bead on him.

_..He figured it was in the Dixon blood. An attitude that was cultivated at birth, ripe for simmering disagreeably and the tantalizing, if not unpredictable possibility of impending violence…Merle had it in spades. But then again, knowing Merle that wasn't any big surprise…_

But this look was different. It had intent. Perhaps it was only wishful thinking or his long neglected libido talking, but he could have _sworn_ that the kid was doing it _on purpose._ Either way it was driving him mental. Hell if he knew what to do about it either.

So in a sense, he really _shouldn't_ have been that surprised that when Glenn had mentioned the need for a supply run, he found the drawling syllables that made up his intent to go _with_ him had already left his lips. Echoing out into the tree line, the words quiet and strong without him even having to think about it. And if the kid lit up like an evergreen decorated for Christmas, well, the others, to their credit, didn't even bat an eye. Blissfully oblivious as always. _Thank Christ._

He didn't regret it. He'd never seen the use in regrets, having neither the patience nor the time for them. And neither was he about to take the words back. He was going, it was a non-issue. But as he watched Glenn flit around the camp, collecting backpacks and other supplies in preparation for the trip, squinting up into the bright Georgian sun, he was forced yet again to wonder where those words had even come from..

**A/N:** Please let me know what you think? Reviews and constructive critiquing are love!

"_Chaos is a name for any order that produces confusion in our minds."__ -__George Santayana_


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters. Though if they gave it to me I certainly wouldn't say no.

**Warnings:** See original chapter for a complete list of warnings. This particular chapter will contain significant adult language, makes allusions to possible drug use and violence. It is also pertinent to forewarn you, that this particular chapter marks the beginning of the more 'slashy' bits. So those who don't like even _hints_ of the slashy goodness that many of us know and love, you might want to skitter off around this point. (So in other words, mild Slash)

**Authors Note:** Please read and review. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism. The encouragement and constructive criticism your reviews provide makes the writing process that much more enjoyable!

***Thank you to all those that reviewed. I am glad there is still interest in this story despite the long hiatus! I was inspired to get back into the spirit of writing this story when I saw the season two teaser. OH-M-GEE GUYS. For serious. Who else simply CAN'T wait till October?**

**Rotation – **_**Chapter 5**_

The word that they were planning a supply run spread quickly. The camp-wide scuttlebutt practically buzzing with both excitement, and its fair share of anticipation as the others milled around, helping them prepare and making meaningful sounds about _certain_ items that would be useful around camp. It was like being stuck in an overcrowded hen house, with everyone butting in and overriding each other as they sought to add to an already impossible wish list.

But even he had to admit that the excitement had been infectious. Creating a sort of celebratory atmosphere, with everyone's spirits noticeable lightening as the idea began to take root and hope came to a head. After all, there had been precious little to get excited over lately. Unreasonable hope was better then no hope at all he supposed.

And predictably, like the sole thunder cloud fucking up a perfect summers day, it was around that point that Shane decided to creep out from under whatever rock he had been brooding under since the CDC, and grace the world with his butt ugly face. _Things came to a head pretty damn quickly after that._

They had all been in agreement as to _why_ they needed this supply run. It was really _that_ god damned simple. Because while meat might be the general staple in a normal persons life, the nutritional need for vegetables and other food stuffs was getting all too hard to ignore. Variety wasn't just the spice of life, but rather a necessity. They needed supplies and everyone one knew it.

All of them, save Shane, of course.

From the moment the argument started he knew the taller man was going to be in it for the long haul. For whatever reason, the man obviously wasn't about to let this one go easily. Unbidden, the situation reminded him of a mule they once had back when he was a teenager. It had been stubborn, foul tempered, and had a mean streak to match. It had kicked and bit for no good reason, even going as far as to charge the padlock when you went to feed it. Mama had tried her best to butter him up, tempting him with carrot ends and sweet corn, tramping out to the south pasture every day for over three months to win the stubborn little thing over. Cooing softly even as it's beady little eyes followed her every move. It's posture humpbacked, gangly, and practically _promising_ violence.

But even she couldn't save the bad tempered beast from itself. Because one morning when she went out to feed it, she over estimated it's patience and the progress she had made and entered the pasture. The stupid thing charged her, pinning her flat against the hard metal gate and tried its best to chomp down on her struggling shoulder. In fact, despite her yelling had only been when he had heard the commotion and leapt over the fence, charging the thing right back that it had retreated at all.

In the end, Merle had to take the beast out behind the compost bins and shoot it. After that Mama hadn't been able to muster up the heart to go near the paddock again till early spring, her heart eventually enticed to spoil and dote again just in time for the births of four healthy calves. All flicking tails, curious noses and unsteady legs, their pretty little baby coats the perfect mix of speckled black and pure white, standing out like prancing, starkly coloured beacons in the green hued pasture.

_It had been worth it just to see her smile again._

But regardless, as of right now, as much as he disliked the deputy, he had to say that he wasn't exactly relishing the direction that comparison seemed to be heading either… All they were doing now was wasting time arguing when all of them could be having full bellies by night fall. _Made no sense._

Holding himself in check was something that was remarkably hard to do considering the circumstances. His anger only rising as he forced himself to bide his time and listen to the man's drivel. Unable to ignore how even the little ones were now looking on, their eyes hopeful, yet shielded. Already far too used to disappointment and yet another day with only a few scraps to tide them over. _Kids should never look like that. It was one thing for a man to go to bed hungry, but it was an entirely different thing for a child to have to do the same._

Was going out dangerous? Hell _yes_. But really, what wasn't? A man could get hamstringed taking a bloody piss these days. Was it needed? _Absolutely_. Food and supplies were becoming just as much, if not _more_ of a problem then their gas gauges. There was just no way to get around it. They needed to eat and eat _right_, or sooner then later things were going get worse then they already were.

_As hard as that was to believe these days…_

Everyone was feeling it now. That low, listless, gnawing pain that frothed, hollow and empty deep in the gut, there wasn't a sensation in the world quite like it. Because given enough time it could entirely unman a person, sending one half crazed and vicious against anything that stood in the way of their empty belly and what could fill it. It turned smart, resourceful men into stupid, reckless animals. Hunger is one of the few baser needs that still holds sway just as much today as it did at the dawn of mankind. Because just like the creatures that now roamed through the abandoned cities streets, everything on this earth still needed to eat.

.._Hunger was a bitch. _

Instead he stood silently, simply watching the argument as it unfolded. Tension rising as he watched as Shane, Mossberg still firmly in hand, idled into a position that blocked the main exit out of camp. The man's trigger finger itchy on the glossy black stock. He raised a brow, eying the man with a withering, but assessing glare as his own fingers ghosted down the length of his crossbow.

That **had** to be deliberate._ Strategic. _It was a move that pointed not only to the commitment towards a specific course of action, but also as a conscious decision to place himself at the most advantageous position in camp. Where no one could leave or enter in the quickest most direct route to the vehicles without having to pass him first.

_He knew that, because it was the kind of offensive move he himself would have made if he were in the man's place. The man was a smart son of a bitch, he'd give him that.._

"Look, the way I see it. This is something we don't really have a choice about anymore. We are out of or low on basically everything. Scrounging just isn't cutting it anymore!" Glenn replied, voice unaccustomedly hard as he ran a frustrated hand through his hair. His eyes clearly imploring as he looked around the rag-tag circle, as if inciting the others to see reason.

But he had no cause to worry, because Shane was the only one that seemed set about arguing against it, palming the Mossberg in a way that seemed to make _everyone _edgy. Something that was certainly doing him no favours in the grand scheme of things. Because the man just wouldn't quit! Carrying on in a disjointed tirade as the others gathered, ringing the sidelines like they were watching some sort of god damned freak show.

Shane argued that it was too much of a risk to take, especially now when fuel and supplies were so low. The man just didn't seem to get the big picture in all this. All he was really doing was airing his dirty laundry to the whole camp, ego tripping on a level that even Merle couldn't attain without the help of a few lines of nose candy and a trip chasing the white dragon. This wasn't about petty squabbles and pissing matches anymore. This was about survival, plain and simple.

_The man was only proving himself to be a damn fool._

Idly, he half entertained the idea of simply strangling the man in his sleep. Sure Shane was a crack shot and a determined little shit when it came down to it. But the fact remained that the fucker was becoming trouble then he was worth these days. There was something not quite right with the man. Or so he reckoned, maybe even a few screws loose up there or something.

Either way, something was going to have to be done about it..and soon. He knew he wasn't the only one that had noticed the change. And while normality was practically a pipe dream these days, everyone knew_ this_ was something different. _Something that was inherently wrong on an entirely different level. _It all came down to that broken, unstable little glint that reflected in the man's wide bloodshot eyes.

But for now the point was that the man didn't _want_ to see sense. _And they didn't have time for this anymore!_ Whether blinded by stubborn pride or a few months worth of misjudgements and regrets, it didn't really matter. It was clear enough that the man wasn't about to let this one go without a fight.

_Well, enough of this shit…_

The man was still arguing, and by this time the debate had migrated into a heated little huddle off to the side as Grimes, Dale, T-dog, and Glenn all tried their best to sway the man. He didn't know why they even bothered. The time for debate had already past them by. He knew it. They knew it. _Everyone knew it_. They had past that point weeks back, back with the end of that last can of vegetables, and a few fruitless searches of the closest gas station mini mart.

_They had to act now._

Mind racing he chose a moment where the angry voices began rising in crescendo, deciding to cut right into the heart of the matter as he straightened, stepping out from the sidelines and right into the fray. But rather then facing off against Shane and forcing him to see sense, he turned instead toward Carol and her daughter Sophia. Stalking over towards where they were sitting on a log by the campfire, the older woman running a trembling hand through her daughter's hair as they watched the argument from a careful distance.

"Has your daughter's hair always been so fine?" He asked, keeping his tone even, and his words gentle despite making sure his voice carried over to the others. Finally putting to words an observation he had steadily been noticing for close to a week now.

And just as he'd hoped the timing of the move went down perfectly. Inanely gratified to hear the angry voices stutter to a halt as the others turned their attention towards him. Entirely ignoring Shane and his attempts to revive it.

The older woman turned her big doe eyes on him, staring at him for a few long beats in surprise and incomprehension before she seemed to realize that he had actually asked her a question. _That big bastard really had done a number on her.._

"No…Not since before.." She finally responded, drawing out the words unintentionally as her eyes focused on the light, corn flower blond of her daughter's hair. And only a few moments later her big blue eyes went wide with concern and shock as the information sunk in.

"Oh god. I thought it was just the stress.." She cried, reflectively grasping the confused girl tight to her breast, as if she could somehow protect her from the early clutches of malnutrition and nutrient deficiency. One pale little hand flying to her mouth as a few wordless sounds of dismay trickled out.

"It ain't bad, not yet. But you can bet we are all suffering from a degree of it. Especially the little ones." He spoke over her quickly. Adjusting the heft of his crossbow and catching movement out of the corner of his eye as the others circled closer, concerned murmurs buzzing through the close space like insects hovering just above a ripe smelling corpse.

_Now they were all getting' worried? Figures._

Shane just looked murderous.

"Now let's just discuss this rationally I-." Rick began, effectively cutting Shane off at the pass. Forehead bunched in a hard frown as he looked from Shane to himself in quick succession. Clearly thinking fast.

"Ain't nothin' to discuss." He interjected, stepping in closer between the others as he stared the larger man down. "Besides no one is asking you to go anyway." He pointed out sharply, crossing his arms over his chest, as if daring him to contradict him.

_He wasn't disappointed._

"You just shut 'yer mouth. This doesn't concern you Dixon!" Shane spat back, the arm still grasping the Mossberg twitching alarmingly as he all but dismissed him.

But **that **was the moment he had been waiting for, because out of the corner of his eye he watched as the groups posture suddenly shifted, the tension racketing up to a notch that was almost palpable. Shane had finally gone too far. The air was heavy with it. _It had almost been __**too**__ easy._

_Someone certainly had a bug up their ass._

"Like hell!" He shot back, unable to let it go as anger got the best of him. His hands curling up into tight fists as he advanced on the man until he was right in his face. Riding that precarious line in between unbridled tension and violence like an unbroken stallion does its very first rider. They stayed that way until both Rick and T-dog moved forward, not quite backing anyone, but remaining close by just in case.

_They needn't have bothered. He wouldn't have wasted a bullet on the stupid son of a bitch, much less his own fist._

Shaking it off, he turned around, levelling the group with a cool, but steady stare. His gaze lingering on Glenn for a brief moment as their gazes met. Feeling strangely satisfied when the younger man did nothing to break it. His expression worried but brimming with determination as he bent down and retrieved his abandoned pack, letting his opinions be known right then and there before he moved over to stand closer beside both himself and Rick.

And for reasons he didn't quite understand, something shoved deep down and almost forgotten in the pit of his stomach stirred unmistakably to life. Flip flopping around in his gut like a set of nerves he just couldn't seem to shake. But after a long moment he shook it off, forcing himself to look away as the man's converse sneakers dug into the dry, crackling soil at his side. Trying to ignore the way he could practically _feel _every movement the younger man made. _The air was electric with it. Charged. Dangerous.._

"We don't have a choice. It's either get supplies or die. We don't have the luxury of half assing anymore. You want to survive? Well this is a risk that _has_ to be taken. Yeah it's a risk. But what do you care anyway, you ain't goin'." He finally bit off. Breaking the silence as anger and disgust simmered deep and explosive in his gut, body shot full with adrenaline and still itching for a fight.

_He held it off with the skin of his teeth._

He had hardly finished when Shane moved forward, expression edging just shy of psychotic as he realized that the battle had been lost. Fingers tightening convulsively around the stock of his weapon until Rick stepped to his side, a steady, calming hand coming up to his shoulder as he made to speak.

"Shane. Shane! Look.. He has a point. They both do." Rick cautioned, tone rapidly deteriorating into a purposefully soothing pitch, as if he were talking to a snarling, cantankerous animal rather then a man.

"Look, Glenn knows a place. Quick, easy, and as low risk as you can get. It's close by, an hours walk at most. They won't even have to take one of the vehicles." He continued. Ignoring Glenn's discomforted shift as he shuffled his feet reluctantly. No more jazzed about the idea of going into the open without an easy mode of transportation then he was. But there was nothing for it. All the tanks were running on empty as it was.

"Right?" Rick prompted. Looking from Glenn back to Shane warily, his face a pockmarked mess of tension, frustration and worry as Lori and the boy looked on. Her hands firm and protective around the kids shoulders, as if she could somehow shield him from Shane's piercing look. _And really, wasn't that just a thought?_

"Yeah. We past it on the way up. A bunch of farm houses all bunched close together other. Its only a few miles, we can walk there and hotwire something for the trip back." Glenn quickly jumped in, carefully eying Shane as he did so.

"That way we won't have to waste any of the gas we do have. And can probably come back with food, supplies, and whatever gas is left in what we can hotwire." The young Korean continued, clearly warming to the idea as he gained steam. Scuffing his sneakers against the dirt as he swung off his pack and added a few odd ends as he moved away, shoe heels hardly making a dent against the sun baked soil. The rough, Georgian ground as parched as their gas tanks.

_Christ, what he wouldn't give for an easy trip down to the old 'Gas 'n Go' and an ice cold beer. Shit._

After the kid had moved away the silence that descended was all but palpable. The moment stretching as the others thought it through. The responsibility pressing down across their shoulders like something thick, vicious and clingy, much like a muggy, south Georgian summer just after high noon. Because unlike Glenn, the rest of them knew this was _far _from over. And even then, he couldn't help but wonder if he had ever being that unjaded?

With a frustrated huff of breath he purposely turned away from the irate man, showing him his back as he ignored the power of the man's glare. He could practically feel it itching between his shoulder blades. He had no time for someone that wasn't fit to see reason even if it went so far as to strip ass naked right under their nose and start doing the fox trot.

He generally didn't give two shits about what people thought of him. But what he did take offence to was if someone, especially someone whom he deemed as being less capable then himself, started bad mouthing his abilities. Because he damn well knew what was best for him. And for right now, that mirrored what was best for _all_ of them.

Instead he set his gaze on Rick, catching the man's eye from under the wide brim of his Sheriffs hat. The look they shared spoke volumes. It was the assessing type of stare that only results when two strong men, with equally as strong personalities are faced with a decision. _A choice._ He let his eyes speak for him, and was somewhat gratified to realize that the look in Rick's eyes quickly morphed into agreement. _Acknowledgement._ And possibly, even that of a grudging, unexpected kind of respect.

In fact it was Rick that finally broke it, running his fingers across the sweaty rim as he readjusted the tilt of his hat, giving him a small assenting nod before he made to speak. Shane simply stood there. Stone faced and cold, as the cords of his neck pulsated rhythmically, as if fit to burst right then and there.

"Well alright. If you both are willing I vote you go. I don't like it but we can't go on like this, that's for sure." The man began, looking over his shoulder at Shane searchingly before continuing.

"For gods sakes be careful. Just come back safe. …Do you need anyone else?" He asked, his words seeming to hold the weight of the decision itself. As if he himself held some sort of responsibly toward their own actions and well being.

"Nope." Glenn piped from across the main fire pit. "Two is already more then enough." He finished, shoving Andrea's gun into his belt as he hefted his pack across his shoulder once again. With the woman herself standing listless and disconnected from her place at the old man's side, unconsciously rubbing at some minuscule spot on her skin, as if there was a stain on them that just wouldn't wash clean.

"Fine. Get your shit kid. We leave in five." He growled, stalking in between the two of them as he headed across the clearing to gather his pack and extra bolts from his tent, scattering the rest of the group with only a few purposeful strides. _He had gotten used to it by now.._

And vaguely, even as he stepped through the flaps of his tent, somewhere behind him he heard Rick's voice purposely lowering. Head angling down towards the kid as they spoke, obviously warning the younger man about the usual. Don't get close to the brand _new_ wildlife, be careful, and always watch your six. And knowing Grimes, who still sported that cautious little glint in his eye whenever he looked his way.. likely_** him **_as well.

_Smart man.._

**Glossary:** 'Nose Candy' is a street nick name for Cocaine. The phrase 'chasing the dragon' refers to inhaling vapours of heroin or cocaine heated on tin foil.

**A/N:** Please let me know what you think? Reviews and constructive critiquing are love!

"_An ostrich with its head in the sand is just as blind to opportunity as to disaster." – Anonymous_


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters. Though if they gave it to me I certainly wouldn't say no..

**Warnings:** See original chapter for a complete list of warnings. This particular chapter will contain significant adult language, violence, and mild slash.

**Authors Note:** Please read and review. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism. The encouragement and constructive criticism your reviews provide makes the writing process that much more enjoyable!

***An early chapter this week! Hopefully this weekend will see another on top of this. I realized the current chapter was going to be a mammoth, and I needed to break it up a bit. Hope you are still enjoying!**

**Rotation – **_**Chapter 6**_

Providence turned out to be a ramshackle strip of farmsteads that bordered the hemline of the back state highway. In fact it looked more like some sort of rundown strip mall then a neighbourhood. All broken cola bottles and old cig filters, tumble weeds and unkempt front lawns. Basically everything you could expect from rural Georgia.

He raised a disgusted eyebrow, taking in the peeling paint and cracking siding on the nearest front porch. Skipping over the sun faded deck chairs and rusty porch swings as his keen hearing only just picked up the sound of a lone wind chime tinkling hollowly in the near distance. _And people had the nerve to call __**him**__ a redneck? Damn._

It had taken them over three hours on foot, even at a fast clip. Far longer then they both were anticipating. The trip itself had been unaccustomedly silent, even for him, with the both of them already on edge and practically vibrating with hyper sensitivity and alertness. Their systems flooded through with too much adrenaline and half realized panic to make any concerted effort at anything even resembling conversation.

In fact it wasn't until they were within shouting distance that he broke the silence at all. Shifting his bow off his shoulder and closer to hand as he scanned the area, making sure they were still alone. Satisfied he brought the man up short, not even thinking about it when his fist fell across the man's chest; bring the man to a stop beside him. And perhaps, if he had been really thinking about it, he might have noticed that the kid didn't even make a peep. Letting the well meant manhandling go without even so much as an irritated glance.

_Something that by itself, should have told him something right then and there.._

"Alright. What's your plan kid." He finally asked, watching the Korean out of the corner of his eye as his attention turned back towards the uneven row of houses. Each house was situated at the head of the property with the fields and acreage spiralling out from the back. He spotted a few barn and cattle paddocks but no livestock, and certainly no geeks. _Where had they all gotten to?_

"What?"

"You've done this before." He clarified, turning towards the younger man once again. "This is your game, what are the house rules?" He asked. Effectively corralling his impatience before it came back to bite him in the ass.

At this the kid seemed to come to life, pointing towards the first house in the line with an assessing, but confident air. "Right. Well I was thinking. Old places like this often have root cellars." The man began.

"A lot of people have been going back to it lately. You know with the economy? It saved on the energy bills right?" The kid continued, seeming to gain steam the longer he went without being interrupted.

"Most people that have them keep them stocked pretty well. Canned goods, home made perserves, non perishable stuff. And better yet, it is not the first place people generally think to look if they are just on a simple smash and grab. So it is likely most of them are still pretty untouched." The kid finished, adjusting the brim his baseball cap as he turned away from the bright afternoon glare.

And for a long moment he was tempted to ask the same inane question he had voiced back in that mall in Atlanta. Still half unsure if the man was actually being serious or having them on completely. Because you just _didn't _get that kind of smarts purely on the streets. There was something more to this kid.

_Simple pizza delivery guy his lily white ass._

But he raised an eyebrow nonetheless, waiting a long moment before nodding and letting the man take point. Waiting until the kid had shouldered his pack and started off towards the house closest to them. He had to give the kid credit. All else considered the man certainly knew his shit.

But as they started getting closer the atmosphere of the place slowly began to take shape. After the infection every abandoned place had a story. Standing as the lone testament to what might have happened there. And the story to this place was already at the table of frickin' contents.

There was a silver, big wheeled truck parked in the front. Still so shiny and new looking that he wasn't even surprised to see that the vehicle still had its dealership plates. They came around the side of the truck cautiously; starting despite themselves when they realized that entire right side of the truck was speckled with indefinable smears, pock marked with bloody hand prints and shallow dents.

_The only the thing was that marks weren't old..They were still wet.._

Chewing viciously on his lower lip, he said nothing as he brought them both to a halt, letting a hand rest against the younger man's chest in silent communication. Something wasn't right here. He could practically smell it. It didn't even matter that there wasn't a walker in sight. In fact it only served to put his hair on edge.

Because he knew the place hadn't been this empty when they had passed it only a few days earlier. Recalling even now, the brief sight of a few geeks stumbling aimlessly through the weed strewn fields as they drove by, the crops withered and dead on the stalks. Left to rot by an owner that would likely never come back to collect.

"What is it?" Glenn hissed.

Crouching further into the long grass he ignored the kid's half whispered question, weighing their options privately. He had made it this far by surviving on his instincts. It was like that small, half forgotten voice in the back of your head that screams for you to duck the moment before some arsehole pulls the trigger. It was what had been keeping him alive. Letting him know when it was time to run..time to fight.. And now, it was screeching at him to just turn around. To let this whole thing go and head back to camp empty handed. _Fuck this._

"Daryl…What is it man?"

He cursed under his breath. Hand coming down to stead himself as he leaned forward. Fingers digging into the brittle, sun roasted clay as he thought hard. Any other day, any other time it was a situation that he wouldn't have even questioned. Unlike the others he knew when to cut his losses. The alternative just wasn't worth it.

…But today..

_He was fucking hungry.._

It turned out that the kid had been bang on. Because they found a cellar entrance built into the side of the very first house they came across. Scraping off a thin layer of leaves and grime, their fingers paused as Glenn brushed away the last of the dirt to reveal a freshly broken padlock. They shared a look. Someone had already been here. _Shit._

The moment they swung the doors open they immediately regretted it. Rearing back as the scent of old blood rose. It was thick, sudden, and absolutely unmistakable. His forearm rose instinctively to cover his nose as the stale and almost putrid stench only intensified. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Glenn's throat work convulsively. Probably forcing down bile by sheer force of will alone as the smell threatened to make even _his_ eyes water.

_Damn that was rank._

They paused for a long moment, letting the smell waft through the air. Rising like a tide as it blew upwards from the dank, dark looking staircase until it slowly dispersed around them._ Mother Nature slowly, but steadily doing her job_. After a while he chanced it and inhaled sharply. Watching as Glenn covered his nose with his sleeve as he sank down to his haunches, pointing his crossbow into the near dark of the cellar as he listened for any movement. Nose twitching violently as the scent of spilt blood rose like a spicy, copper tinged perfume in his senses.

A lot of people think that blood smells a lot like nothing. Perhaps holding only the faintest hint of harsh minerals, or smelted iron. But he had always been able to smell it for what it was, even from the moment a fresh wound met with the open air. And if he was forced to put a name to it, he imagined that it would smell a lot like surprise. Or maybe even that of pain. _All firing neurons and bursting blood vessels, zinging impulses that told the body how to react, to pull away and protect.._

But when it came down to the meat of it, for whatever reason, he had always thought that human blood smelt more like a jar of long forgotten pennies then anything else. The scent pungent and subtly harsh as the coins mouldered under a thick layer of dust and grime, the smell only sharpening with age.

_Something bad had happened here._

When he finally moved forward he was unconsciously appeased when the man made no move to go first. Not even making so much as a fuss as he readied the crossbow and took point, clambering down the old metal staircase head first into the low, natural light. The younger man automatically deferring to him in a way that made his insides flip. It was a sensation that spread like an electric spark as it coursed up the length of his sweat soaked spine. Forcing him to finally register the feel of the man behind him as long, colt like legs brushed against the backs of his thighs, pressing in close, like the man was afraid to loose him in the dim light.

_Because really, wasn't that just a thought?_

He paused at the base of the stairs, letting his eyes adjust to the gloom. But even then the kid saw them before he did. Eyes sussing out the patterns and shapes in the disconnected gloom only a few moments before he did. …._What was that? _

Only a second later he was brought up short by a wordless little sound. A short, cut off little exclamation that bubbled up unbidden from the younger man's throat. It was something that he couldn't define by sound alone, but the kid's facial expression, always so easy and open to read, said it all.

_Distress.._

**A/N:** Please let me know what you think? Reviews and constructive critiquing are love!

"_The truth is incontrovertible. Malice may attack it, ignorance may deride it, but in the end, there it is."__ - __Winston Churchill_


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters. Though if they gave it to me I certainly wouldn't say no..

**Warnings:** See original chapter for a complete list of warnings. This particular chapter will contain significant adult language, violence, and mild slash.

**Authors Note:** Please read and review. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism. The encouragement and constructive criticism your reviews provide makes the writing process that much more enjoyable!

**Rotation – **_**Chapter 7**_

It was the way the low light caught them. The way the dust motes and satin rays turned around and around, getting ensnarled in the bright auburn tangles, the soft ringlets and pale limbs that curled starkly around each other that first caught his eye. A mess of bright material and dull misted over eyes…Curves and clean cut lines. The scent of spilt blood and recently washed hair.. _It was all there. Melded together.. _

_..Maddening, familiar, and terrible.._

His hand came up in a partially aborted movement meant to cover his nose, only to change his mind in mid motion and wipe at the chilled sweat that had broken out across his upper lip instead. He tried to tell himself that it had been brought on by the damp, muggy heat of the root cellar. But that was a lie and he knew it.

.._Bloody fuckin' Christ.._

The sight should have been entirely unremarkable. No different from the scores of other similar scenes fate had forced upon them since this whole messed up thing had started. But in a way it wasn't. This _was_ different. _This was something more._ He didn't know how to put it into words, but he just _knew._

They lay sprawled; limbs tangled together like an unfinished composition. Like some sort of beautiful, uncontrolled chaos..Two young women, all soft ivory skin, uneven tans, freckles, and blood smeared limbs. _Dead dolls_.

Their positions hinted that they had fallen together. They had fought back to back, each of them facing a door, one that led deeper into the cellar and the other the very door they were now standing in. Only then it must have been akin to facing the doors of hell itself. They had been surrounded, overpowered, with too many undead and not enough time or bullets. _They must have known.._

_But they hadn't gone quietly. _

Bullets holes bit deep into the walls, scaring the thick wood and scoring across the concrete in quick, skipping dents and barely discernable craters. The spent cartridges of shells and shot lay scattered across the floor like abandoned party favours, mixing in together with the unsteady trails of dark, partially congealed crimson and brain spatter. And it was in that jumbled up mess of blood and dirt that the final moments of their story slowly came together.

Because despite the horrific nature of the scene, two winding trails of unsteady crimson marked the way they had dragged themselves out from underneath the piles of undead. The both of them crawling and clawing their way free until they reached the safety of farthest wall, unable to retreat any further.

_..The poison must have already been spreading…devilishly quick.. Invasive and absolutely unmerciful. Because scratch or bite, you always ended up the same way.. As one of them._

They remained silent for some time, each caught up in their own restless thoughts. And in spite of himself he took a moment to fully absorb what he was seeing. Glenn wordlessly doing the same, his sad eyes already trailing over their sprawling limbs and lax features, and knowing the kid, already elbow deep in something suitably sappy and morose, a common facet of the young_. _

But still.._god damn._

'_Naivety must be fuckin' bliss.' _He thought somewhat vindictively. Thinking darkly about that moment in camp, and the way Shane's eyes had gone unreasonable and hard. Uncaring of anything save for his ego and worthless hide. He didn't want to imagine what the man might have said for a moment such as this. And as he looked back, the Korean caught his eye in the low light, all high cheekbones and angular shadows glinting off the sheen of his jet black hair, he was suddenly glad they had come alone.

The women hadn't been dead long, only two or three days at the most. Their eyes empty and misted over, almost lost admist the dancing shadows that played gently across the angles of their faces, bringing the hollows and down turns to life. Their expressions elusive..closed… Yet there was no feeling of finality here. No _real _ending..

_And for one terribly confusing moment, he thought that it was almost beautiful. _Beautiful in the way an embrace is between friends or a smile between lovers... Terrible in its death of course, a _waste_..a_ shame…_But yet, somehow, _still _beautiful.

It was a shocking and almost life altering moment really. Because god knows he could literally count the number of times he had actually put that word to voice in his entire life on only two hands.

Like the time when his mama had come in, sweat streaked and dirty from planting in the back garden and he had told her she was beautiful. His chubby toddler cheeks wobbling with a childish smile as the irritation and frustration melted off her face like a piece of plastic left too close to the fireplace. Even when Merle had glared at him from, calling him "a stupid suck up" from across the kitchen table _no one_ could take that smile away from him. Or the day he had brought down his very first deer, a young, brown speckled doe. It had been the perfect kill, quick, clean, and honest.

The scene before them now was remarkably emotional in the forced absence of words. Without even a single name or testament to the lives that had ended here save for the presence of the women themselves. _Didn't seem right.._

_But they hadn't died alone. And in these crazy days, he supposed that had to count for something._

He wanted to turn around, to just grab the food and leave like they had meant to do all along. But now _they_ wouldn't let him. There was something their sightless, vacant eyes that all but demanded that he stare back. Forcing him to look, and look hard. But most of all, too remember as well. .._Damn them._

The smaller of the two was the closest. She was a short, brown haired thing in cattle hide boots and a dirty cream coloured tank, lying propped up against the wall. Sprawled at a strange angle and slumped half over on her side, leaning up against her companion. Her wound was so far off center it had nearly missed, the dried blood spiking up her short brown hair close to the far side of her eyebrow rather then in the center of her forehead. It was almost as if the other woman had looked away as she had done it, unable to look her friend in the eye as she had pulled the trigger.

_The last decent thing they could do for one another._

Her only wound save for the gunshot, was a large, vicious looking bite on her right arm, marring the delicate skin just above her tattoo. A small, tasteful design depicting a pair of aviator wings, a symbol that ironically stood for that of freedom. And in spite of himself he found himself shaking away a sudden chill. Because all he could think was how _wrong_ that was. She was meant to be in the air. _Not here. _Grounded and left to moulder in this dank, soulless place. It made one wonder, at least for one long, vengeful moment if there really was a God…

Whereas the other one was an entirely different story. She was all long legs, subtle curves and dull hazel eyes that just _demanded_ her due attention. She was a tall, long curled auburn brunette, and had been shot clean through the forehead, no mess, no mistakes. Even the wound itself was mostly covered, sheltered by a layer of messy, crimson stained bangs.

Her thick curls were swept partially off her face, trickling across the arch of her neck and tumbling down to the floor below. The winding salt tracks of long dried tears were still visible on each lightly freckled cheek, despite the gentle blood spatter. Something that seemed all too jarring when set next to the deep tears that marked a large bite in her left thigh, the material of her jeans torn right through, as the other lesser serious ones, scored across her upper arms like bullet ricochets.

Her hands had fallen down into her lap, gun gentled in the small space between her legs, fingers curled inward, already stiff with the onset of rigor mortus. In fact he almost didn't notice the slim band on her ring finger, glinting a haughty, burnished gold in the near light. It was too plain, and far too worn with love to be an engagement or wedding ring, but still, the blood encrusted ring made him wonder who she might have left behind. But worse still was the way her mouth remained slightly parted. Her pert pale lips drawn back, as if paused in the act of speech, silenced when she had far more to say.

_As if she had died with someone's name ghosting across her lips.._

She was, in the way the dead often tend to do, appearing to look off towards some unknowable point in the distance, her face curved so it looked almost as if she was looking towards the door from which her death had come. Her pale, milky eyes unfocused, but the gaze itself was dead on. She had died watching the door.

And for some disturbingly vehement reason, he didn't think it was for more walkers.. At least not completely. It was almost as if there had been something _else_ there in those last few moments, as if she had been watching something..or someone when death had claimed her. _And she had died with her eyes wide open._

He blinked back a suspicious sting, the sensation building like a sudden pressure behind his eyes. He suddenly felt as though he was on the brink of stumbling across some sort of invisible line, a barrier that he knew instinctively that he should not cross. He baulked at the feeling, having no use for things like regrets and sappy, maudlin thoughts about people he didn't even care enough to know.

_Not here. Not now. Maybe not ever. It just wasn't who he was._

But what was really getting to him was the absence of what remained here. There were no notes, no wishes for things to have turned out differently. No names, dreams or final words. It was only them. Heart stoppingly brutal in that final honesty and stripped bare of everything they had once been. Everything they _were,_ everything they _could_ have been.

_Shit._

And as if mirroring his thoughts, Glenn blew out a long, pent up breath from his place beside him. And after all the silence the sound was almost startling, prompting him to turn around a simply stare. The younger man was just standing there, arms limp from the shoulders, and looking down at the two women with an expression that twisted his characteristically open features. _Guilt. _As if the kid could have one god damned thing to prevent it!

_He didn't like that look. Not on him.._

"We passed this place only two days ago." The man started, the words coming out thick and almost halting as his thin fingers swiped through the length of his sable, sweat slicked hair, the movement almost violent in its frustration. The kid's mood was palpable, even to him. It was oppressive and thick, vibrant only in its starkness, and echoing through the close space like an admission of guilt.

"Daryl, I _saw _that truck. They must have just..What if we had.." Glenn began. His words tapering off into nothingness as the kids eyes trailed back to the two prone women, seemingly at a loss for words. He couldn't blame him.

And as he eyed the kid down through the messy, sweat soaked fringe of his hair, he realized that he didn't even know what to say to that. He wasn't going to lie to him. That never did anyone any favours. But the kid was right. He had noticed it too. They had probably missed passing them on the road by only a few hours hours, maybe even minutes, out hunting for food and supplies just like they were. Only these young things had been a team of two, and two only. By circumstance or choice they'd never know, but the trust…the _camaraderie_ that had existed between them was as plain as day.

But perhaps when it all came down to it, he figured that the reason it was still sticking with him was the principal of the thing. It wasn't the emotion of the scene…_at least not wholly._ It was something intrinsically _more_ then that. _Deeper. _Hell, even something philosophical in nature that he found that he could somehow connect to. Like it was the one thing left in this crazy, fucked up world that he could still understand.

It was the fact that even in death, it was the way in which they had ended it that had made it their own. They had made it into a choice rather then a mere dictation of fate. All but spitting in the face of fate herself. And above all else, he found that he had to respect that. They had _chosen_ to die, _chosen_ to end their lives rather then to risk the alternative.

But he swallowed those words. Taking them by the tongue and shoving them so far down his throat that he nearly choked on them. Instead he ran a thumb over his lower lip, clicking his teeth in frustration as he moved a few paces away, putting some space in between them as he made to speak.

"…'Aint no use in thinkin' about 'what ifs' kid. Just let it go." He advised. All too conscious of the passing minutes, time spent cooped up with the dead rather then the living. They hadn't survived this long by moping over spilt milk. Life is life. Death is death. You can't get lost in between the two.

"Now com'on, daylight's burning." He finished, hiking his crossbow more firmly onto his shoulder, before reaching a hand back to his quiver. Finger counting the arrows like a normal person might repeat a daily prayer. _A force of habit that had suddenly become a necessity. _

But as he stopped, standing shoulder to shoulder with the man, he could practically _smell _the kid's unruly thoughts. And standing there, unexplainably caught up in complexity of the moment, he _stalled_. Stuck in between wanting to turn away and inexplicably move forward_. _Both of them drawn to the scene through a means they couldn't even begin to explain.

He supposed it was because he too could imagine the moment. How it had all gone down. How everything had suddenly gone so south of sour in less time then it took to blink. He could imagine it because if it were him, facing death at the hands of _them, _this._.virus_, this _disease_…he knew he would have done the exact same thing. It was true, in a weird and really quite twisted way, there was no such thing as mercy or second chances these day. No do-overs either. Not in this life. It was what it was. Fate and circumstance ruled here. Not fairness and certainly not mercy.

Still, the point remained, that was_ then_, and_ this_ was now. And it didn't help anyone to dwell on what _might_ have been. Either way these women were certainly beyond caring. So nudging Glenn with a firm but gentle shoulder, he motioned toward the scattered backpacks of supplies.

"Come on kid. They 'aint gonna be using this stuff any more.." He stated.

The women must have just picked the cellar clean before there were attacked. With two bulging packs stuffed to the brim lying abandoned beside the both of them._ Almost made it._. He reached for the taller woman's sack, a hiking pack with a wide mouth and expanded space, perfect for gathering supplies. And he couldn't help but notice that it had a Canadian flag sewn onto the front, a crumpled airport sticker still fastened around the side handle. The tag too blurred and weather beaten to read the name. And for reasons beyond even himself, he was absurdly grateful. _He didn't want to know._

Adjusting his crossbow, he bent down, quickly scooping up a number of cans that had fallen out of the top in the struggle, shoving the mish-mash of canned food, packages of crackers, and home made preservatives back in with little ceremony. Refusing to let himself think too much about the hands that had initially gathered them. _Nothing good ever came out of thoughts like that._

When he had finished he bent down, gently unhooking one of the straps that had gotten tangled around the woman's heel. Biting his lip between his teeth when despite his care, the movement caused one of her hands to fall from her lap; fingers skittering hollowly across the barrel of her gore encrusted Lady Smith.

The sound was startling as the echoes chased one another through the silent room as her filthy palm came to rest, splayed cheaply across the grainy concrete. _Careless and macabre. _The second causing even Glenn to look up, head tilting towards him from his place beside on smaller woman, the dark colors of his jersey contrasting strangely with the soft crème of the woman's camisole. But the kid said nothing.

And he found that there was nothing_ he_ could say, nothing to sum up the moment and certainly nothing to ease the burden of knowing for the kid. So he kept to character and said nothing at all. Instead after a long introspective moment he knelt down, gently replacing to her hand in her lap. Thanking every deity he knew to pray to that the kid chose not to comment on it.

And as Glenn did the same, bending down to grab the smaller woman's bulging pack. They both caught the flash as the glossy sheen of a photograph fluttered through the air between them, dislodged from the smaller woman's pack with the movement. Feathering through the air like ash from a growing fire, understated but undeniably present.

He remained silent as the kid bent down, snatching the thing off the floor with one quick, selective movement. His ivory fingers gently brushing it clean as he brought it up to the light. It was one of those novelty Polaroids, like the kind you could get at those trendy booths in the local mall or drug store. _Echoes._

They were almost at the stairs when the kid suddenly turned around, practically bumping him in the chest as he turned to face him. The abrupt movement forcing him to do a quick back step when the kid did nothing to avoid the imminent collision. Upsetting the hang of his crossbow entirely, causing it to score uncomfortably along the hard plane of his back, the metal edges digging into the flesh of his shoulder as he brushed up against the cheap stucco walls. Feeling inexplicably boxed in and caged.

_..Christ, he needed the open air again. It felt almost like being back in the CDC, all close walls and false security…_

"We can't just leave them like this.." Glenn suddenly blurted, effectively halting their progress towards the outer door like it was some sort of after thought. His mouth twisting visibly when the words came out sounding more like a question then an actual statement.

_The kid was learning._

He was tempted to point out that these two women were not so vastly different from the half a dozen walkers that littered the floor at their feet. But this time he held his peace. As despite himself, he found that he too was close to agreement. This went beyond a simple respect for the dead. This was about two women. No, two _human beings _that were somehow more then what they appeared. They had been survivors.

_They had been them._

So, instead he crossed the room, plucking two, musty smelting blankets off a set of long abandoned shelves, throwing one at Glenn even as he set about he unfurling his own. And as her face became lost under the edges of that dusty old blanket, he couldn't help but turn, catching an unwitting glimpse of the woman as he straightened. And even then, caught right there in that very moment, he knew he would probably remember that face for the rest of his natural life. There was something familiar in those eyes, something _emotive_. An oddity that he just couldn't seem to shake..

_And damn her for it. He hadn't asked for this! Any of it!_

In fact it made him wonder just when the hell he had gotten so god damn sentimental. '_You're turnin' into a fuckin' bleedin' heart Dixon.'_ He spat at himself, inertly waging a war against his own elusive physique as he sought for somewhere to cast the blame. It wasn't like him. _Christ, he was thinking this through far too much already! _ He was tempted to blame the kid. But for some reason he didn't think it would make him feel any better.

He didn't even have the heart to complain about the delay when as they closed the connecting door, Glenn took a moment to carefully wedge the photo into the wood where the frame met with the wall. It was the only gravestone these women were bound to receive. There was simply no one left to mourn.

_But for better or worse, those women's troubles were over. Theirs were not._

And despite his attempts to shake it off, he felt the weight of those happy, carefree smiles all the way up the cellar stairs. He could feel it, _them, _all but itching between his shoulder blades. Their smiling eyes bidding him not to waste what they no longer had, insisting in a strange and rather foreboding way, not to make the same mistakes they had. _Dead talking…_

_..Christ, that was dark._

Clearing his throat he shook his head almost imperceptivity. '_God what he wouldn't give for a cigarette right about now…' _He grunted internally, fingers all but itching for the harsh tang of nicotine and the subtle warmth of a lit filter between his ragged, chewed up nails. He missed it, craved it even. He missed the slow, almost sensual drag as he lit up, the sensation of his lungs expanding and contracting as the smoke crept past his tongue, dissipating as it met with the open air. It had been one of the only indulgences he had ever allowed himself. Back in the days when a pack of cancer sticks and his questionably healthy liver were the only two things he ever had to worry about.

_Because given the nature of these days, he bloody well __**hoped **__it would be the cigarettes that would get him. Sure beat the alternative, that's for sure._

Com'on." He finally urged. Effectively rousing them both from where they had coasted to a stop, caught up in the complexities their own thoughts. His voice sounded out far too loud in the stillness and his eyes didn't miss the small wince Glenn fixed him with as they moved forward.

His gaze automatically fixed on the horizon from his position at the base of the cellars stairs, mentally calculating the amount of time they had before dark. They had to get moving. Even now they'd be lucky if that made of back to camp before dusk.

He was already thinking vague thoughts about seeing if he could get the girls truck started, not keen on the idea of walking back to camp in the dark, as he let Glenn precede him up the stairs. Saying nothing when the younger man brushed past him, narrow shoulders ghosting along the length of his bicep as the man moved forward, throwing a small, but rather intense looking smile over the arch of his shoulder as he took the stairs two at a time, using the metal banisters to catapult himself upwards.

.._Except the whole thing left him half thinking he might have missed something blatantly obvious in the whole exchange..Something they were skating the edge between. Something just out of his reach. ..Damnit…_

Even then he tried to put it out of his mind. Not even really noticing when his dirty hand came up to scratch across the patch of skin that was still inexplicable tingling from where the man had brushed against him. _Getting' soft Dixon. Just what kind of thoughts where those anyway? Idgit. _

He was halfway up the stairs when the dawning streaks of the coming dark first became visible. _Shit._ It had already turned the skyline a unique, metallic rose. Even now the horizon was literally melding together to create the diluted, crimson and orange hue that was now spread across the horizon like some sort of cacophonous stain.

He cocked his head, working the sensation through his mind again and again. Like a old school record caught on a continuous loop, the turn table sluggish, but still refusing to let the needle stray..

_Something wasn't right. Something wasn't-_

He had the back of Glenn's retreating jersey in his sight even as his steps quickened, slamming down across the harsh metallic grating as the muscles in his legs began to burn, rocketing him up the last few stairs as his crossbow rose, arrow already notched back and quivering in the sights.

…_What __**was **__that? Shit. Where was it?_

The scuffling click of expensive Italian leather shoes dragging themselves across the pavement on the other side of the hatch was the only thing he heard before the kid's surprised cry echoed out in his uncomprehending ears…

**A/N:** Please let me know what you think? Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! There seems to be a notable lack of interest lately, despite the new chapters. Hopefully those that are reading are still enjoying. Please let me know if I should continue this story or not, it is hard to gauge your audience's reaction when you read, but do not review. 3.

**Glossary:** A _Lady Smith_ is a Smith and Wesson 3913. Generally a small, silver barrelled gun. A double action revolver or pistol.

"_Although prepared for martyrdom, I preferred that it be postponed.__" - __Winston Churchill_


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters. Though if they gave it to me I certainly wouldn't say no.

**Warnings:** See original chapter for a complete list of warnings. This particular chapter will contain significant adult language, violence, and mild slash.

**Authors Note #1:** Please read and review. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism. The encouragement and constructive criticism your reviews provide makes the writing process that much more enjoyable!

**Authors Note #2:** I want to thank all the people that reviewed the last chapter. It really gave me a boost knowing how much you guys are enjoying and following the story. If makes writing this a joy!

**Rotation – **_**Chapter 8**_

His mother had once told him that a humming birds wings could beat anywhere from twenty to twenty five times a second. Far faster then the human eye could catch, and an acceptable explanation for that almost hypnotic blur the little creatures always seemed to produce, especially to a curious and inquisitive child. He remembered being nearly obsessed with the thrum, the near tangible vibration the little birds seemed to create, seeming to cut through the air itself rather then flow together _with _it.

He supposed in a very real way, when it all came down to it, what really drew him in was that he admired the level of sheer tenacity and good old fashioned Georgian gumption that could come from a beast **that **small. _There was something familiar in the mere attitude.._ Besides that, it was a bird that zipped and zig-zagged around faster then it took a normal person to blink. It was shit like that that made you think about giving Mother Nature props for the design alone.

…But somehow, despite all the possibilities and improbabilities of the moment itself, it felt like in less time then that, just over the edge of the open cellar hatch, that that elusive, half seen glimpse suddenly came together…

It was a man in a shredded, grey silk suit and expensive patented leather shoes. He looked like he could have been anyone's rich grandfather, sporting a full head of distinguished salt and pepper hair and an abundance of deeply etched laugh lines. His hands were soft, but kind, as if he had never even so much as laid a hand across the rear ends of his own misbehaving children. Something that in itself stood out in stark contrast to the punishments that had been dealt out by his own old man, god knows he _still_ had the belt buckle scars. In fact this man struck him as been someone who had probably been prone to spoiling his grandchildren outrageously, sneaking them sweets and bits of pocket money whenever their mother's pretty little heads were turned. All testaments to a life lived full to the brim with happiness and good humour.

_The only thing was that this wasn't just a man anymore._

In fact the unassuming and almost coy picture the man produced was utterly ruined by the conspicuous chunk of flesh that was missing from the meat of his right thigh, the wound itself barely covered by the ragged, trailing yards of what looked like a partially undone tensor bandage and a wad of bled through cotton packing. He could even _smell _it from the distance, rotted through and gangrenous.

It was something that one could only assume had once been some sort of make shift bandage, something that had obviously been applied soon after the attack, trying to staunch the worst of the flow as the man had sought better treatment. In fact, you could even picture the scene as it happened. Perhaps the man had been sitting in the waiting room of the hospital when it happened, when he had _turned_, still patiently waiting as the grievously wounded were treated first. One of his concerned children waiting anxiously beside him, their worried eyes taking in the growing, grey tinged pallor as it spread, the fever fastly taking hold as their uncomprehending eyes could do little else but watch. Or maybe he hadn't even made it that far. Perhaps he had turned right then and there, left to wander the streets hungry and alone, his family worried and desperate as his phone switched automatically to voice mail, the same cheerful message greeting their frustrated ears over and over again. _Mocking them with the echoes.._

He wondered how long it had taken them to realize.. Probably too long.

_..That was why the hospitals had fallen first. They had been too busy dealing with the influx of the wounded to realize the deeper, far more sinister problem brewing just underneath. And by the time they had, it had almost always been far too late.._

However, the underlying point still held true. A geek or two was hardly anything to write home about. They had both proved that to be true a thousand times over during the past few months. But on the other hand, more then one? Not so much.

And predictably, just because fate is a sloppy, salt encrusted _cunt_, that one glimpse quickly became two, three, and then finally four as the stinking, staggering group converged on them from some point just out of his immediate sight, propelling themselves forward in an uneven rectangle, their movements far too fast as they closed in on the kid before he could even react.

_Shit. These fuckers were fresh._

The flightily swish and sudden thunk of his arrow meeting dead flesh signalled the first one he dropped. A middle aged women in sun faded jeans and a grocery store smock, neck torn open clear to the tendons. Her limp hands upraised, still opening and closing rhythmically even as she fell backwards, the stock of his arrow thrumming hollowly as it found its mark pierced through the flesh of her left ear.

Pivoting to his right he cleared the cellar stairs and exploded out into the open just in time to watch Glenn take out Mr. Grey Suit with a well executed blow to the base of it's head. Baseball bat cracking through the stagnant evening air with all the intensity of a shot gun blast. The sound alone made him itch for the wood bound stock of his Remington 870. All streamlined and dependable, so different from the prissy little Glock 17 he had shoved into his belt before they had left camp. But they couldn't risk the sound. Not here. There just weren't enough bullets to merit the risk of attracting anymore to their position.

Except now there were_ more_ of them. And they were _everywhere_. Limping around the corner of the neighbouring house, pouring through the small space between the women's parked truck and the house in front like the gates of hell themselves had been thrown wide open. He stopped counting at ten. Unable to spare the attention as his arrows continued to find their mark.

_..Pull…_

_..Aim..._

…_Release. _

_..Yes!_

_..Again…_

_..Shit!_

_..Again…_

…_**Again!**_

"Glenn! Drop!" He yelled, watching as the kid hit the dirt without a pause, clearing the way for him to take down the walker that had been sidling up behind them as they both dealt with their own. The creatures gums rotted through and salivating even as he caught the thing right between the eyes, already turning away to find his next target as Glenn slid to the side, rolling to his feet as the geek dropped, his dark, sable head on a swivel as he regained his footing.

He took down two more that were coming around the curve of the house behind him, brushing against the younger man as they fought back to back for a few scant moments before circumstance sent them spiralling off into open space, leaning into every shot, every upstroke and bat strike they could bring to bear. His bolts whistling through the air like a disconnected, base line song that ended the moment they met with the ivory thickness of bone and the soft, yielding nature of human flesh.

And despite it all, even as he whirled away, bow string quivering under his thumb like a pulse, he couldn't quite manage to tamper down the heady exhilaration of the moment. It was the kind emotion that results when your body is shot through with far too much adrenaline and you are coasting along the precipice of either laughing out loud, or pissing yourself with barely realized fear. Because for the life of him he just couldn't shake the sensation of the kids sweat slicked skin sliding against his own, the man's dark eyes bright, and teeth openly bared the second before they had broken apart. Caught up in the moment as their bodies met, muscles bunching, and then automatically releasing as they slid away, the motion slow..and almost sensual in it's familiarity and ease.

_It was almost as if the kid actually knew.._

The crowd was thinning. He could see it. And the truck was in sight. Safety so close that he could practically taste it on his tongue. His chest heaved, straining as he darted along the outskirts of the crowd, picking off their numbers one by one as they reached for him. The sound of the man's bat cracking home again and again close to his side seemed to mirror the frenetic beat of his pulse as the heady thrum pulsed at his temples. His face sweat streaked and hard as the crimson sky darkened above them, seemingly indifferent to the plight of the world now withering below.

But _that _was the moment. The moment where that one error, that one misstep, twist of fate..or whatever you want to call it… can cost you just about everything..

Because a second later the kid tripped, stumbling as he dodged out of the way as two of the horrid things lunged as one. The man hitting the loose gravel with bruising force, bat rolling out of his limp grip as he scrabbled against the uneven rock, sneakers desperately trying to find purchase on the uneven sod as one of the geeks lurched unsteadily downward, it's gnarled, blood encrusted fingers curling around the edges of the man's t-shirt collar. The second one wasn't far behind, and the only other geek that he could see that was left was making its way around the open hatch. Encroaching on the three of them like it could already scent the man's blood on the wind.

"Kid! Move!" He bellowed, charging along the outskirts of the skirmish as he fought to find an opening. Chest growing vice tight and suffocating when he realised he could only see the occasional sliver of the young Korean as he scrabbled across the unforgiving gravel, squirming and kicking at the grabbing hands as he fought to get away.

_The kid wasn't going to make it… _

…_He couldn't get a clear shot! Fuck!_

"_No!_.. Daryl! … Daryl!"

And he just couldn't help it when his mind went back to that same dark place it had gone that moment in Atlanta. The moment where the kid had screamed out his name just like he was doing now. Calling for him and him alone the very moment the other men had fallen upon him. The kid had been counting on him then,_ expecting_ him to save him_. _Only he hadn't.He couldn't..Not _that _time.

_This time he just saw red._

So, when his muscles suddenly tensed, power snapping up through the tissue and tendons like an electrical wire breaking free from a transformer, what happened next somehow seemed like a natural progression of the moment.

_Because he really didn't think about it. He just __**did**__ it._

His brain was only halfway through squealing like a stuck pig. Screeching that this was the stupidest thing he had ever done in his _entire_ life, when he launched himself at the fuckers with a roar. Buck knife unsheathed and glinting in the low light the moment before he stopped thinking entirely.

**A/N #1:** Please let me know what you think? Reviews and constructive critiquing are love!

**A/N #2:** Sorry this chapter on the short side. I will be putting up another in the next few days. There was just a natural break in the story right here so I decided to utilize it. The next few chapters will be more on the short side as there is a definable shift in the story. So, expect shorter chapters but more updates a week. Deal?

**Glossary:**_Remington 870 Wingmaster _is a pump action shotgun beloved for being relatively in expensive but reliable and easy to handle. (Daryl is shown using it in the show)

_No one can confidently say that he will still be living tomorrow. ~Euripides_


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters. Though if they gave it to me I certainly wouldn't say no.

**Warnings:** See original chapter for a complete list of warnings. This particular chapter will contain significant adult language, violence, and mild slash.

**Authors Note #1:** Please read and review. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism. The encouragement and constructive criticism your reviews provide makes the writing process that much more enjoyable!

**Rotation – **_**Chapter 9**_

"Oh god..Oh shit!.. Daryl!"

He must have blanked out. Hit his head on the concrete or _something_ because the next thing he became aware of was Glenn's voice hollering at him from some point just above his head. The words themselves were barely legible and grating. The syllables and vowels melding strangely as they flowed like water across the very edges of his conscious mind.

He tried in vain to shake the fog away even as his brain sluggishly processed the way Glenn was clawing and yarding at the dead lying atop him. Dragging their limp, stinking corpses clear off him as a litany of curses spewed from between the kid's bruise bitten lips. It was a collection that even Merle himself would have been proud of.

"Talk to me man!"

He sucked in a harsh, half winded breath as he reclaimed his arms from somewhere underneath the second body. Bracing himself up on his forearms alone, his attention split between checking for any wounds and listening to the ominous ringing sound that had all but overwhelmed his hearing. _Fucking ow._

He could feel the man. _Glenn. _He was all over him, sliding across his skin, fingers curling around his arms, digging into his hips as he checked for any bites or scratches. Even the sensation of the man's breath as it ghosted across the venerable arch of his neck. A feeling that contrasted strangely with the putrid, and almost sickly sweet smell of the undead, as the pressing weight of the downed walkers crushed unbearably tight across his chest.

_He didn't even remember gutting the bastards.._

"Are you bit! Did they get you?" Glenn yelled. Skidding through the gravel as he pulled the last of the dead heads off him, manhandling him more then a TSA agent at airport security as the younger man's fingers dipped dangerously low along his hem line. Strong fingers smoothing down across the expanse of his shirt and jeans, as if to prove to himself that he was in fact unharmed.

…_Something that in the process actually ended up giving his dick a whole slew of rather new and interesting ideas then anything else.. _

_Fucking hell._

"I am fine kid. Leave off already." He finally replied, lying through his teeth as his tone went jarring, trying to regain both his breath and his bearings even as he accepted the man's hand and was pulled easily to his feet. In fact, if he was being entirely honest, he felt like hammered shit_. _But the younger man didn't seem to notice, his relieved grin going from zero to mega watt in close to half a second flat.

"Oh thank god!" Glenn exclaimed, as if he had been waiting this whole damn time _just _to hear him speak, before the kid abruptly seized him in an awkward sort of half masculine embrace. All relieved sighs and happy exhales that chilled tantalizingly along the sweat slicked skin of his nape. It was something that ended up shocking him more then anything else, his muscles seizing in his chest like a damn heart attack as the Korean's arms curled around his rib cage. It startled him worse then the walkers and the near death experience. Worse then waking up to a world where everything had started crumbling and the only thing you can hear when you try to get to sleep at night is the sound of dead feet shuffling, and the high pitched whinny of horses screaming.

_..And it was just surreal enough for him to momentarily entertain the idea that he might have actually died after all.._

Meanwhile Glenn's fingers were digging into his shoulder blades in a way that any other time might have been just a razor's edge shy of painful. The kid's hot skin mashed against his as the lines drawn between them simply melted away. Crossed in a way he knew without a second thought was going to be as permanent as bloody concrete, and just about impossible to take back. But for right now, in _this _moment, he was too busy reeling from the near miss to care that much.

_Besides, it had been a long time since someone had held him this way.._

"What the hell man!" Glenn yelled, finally breaking away with an undisciplined spasm of limbs. His face an uncompleted puzzle of wide, angry eyes and down turned lips. Face already accusing and over brimming with confusion before the words had a chance to make it as far as his lips.

And really, he thought that tone of voice was distinctly unfair considering the man's own track record. Hell, the kid must have a sign tattooed on his ass that said something along the lines as: _"Walker meat"_ or "_Kidnap me,"_ because this was starting to get a bit reldicious.

He snorted internally. Ignoring the younger man entirely as he dusted himself off, cleaning his knife and sheathing it with a long, deliberate movement as he bent down to retrieve his crossbow. Giving himself time to mull over his actions as he set about collecting his bolts. Not even noticing the sick, liquid slick noise that occurred every time he yanked an arrow up from the skull of a downed walker.

Because when it all came down to it, privately he had to agree. It _had_ been a fool thing to do. In fact Merle would have his balls if he ever found out. But yet, at the same time he knew that if given a second chance, he wouldn't have done a single thing differently. But instead of saying so, he turned around and glared right back at the man until the kid stopped giving him the fish eye.

"Saved your stupid ass, didn't I?" He growled simply, slipping the last of the bolts back into the quiver strapped onto his back as he watched the man out of the corner of his eye. Trying not to look amused was as the man spluttered for a good ten seconds before he finally found his tongue.

_He didn't know what it was about this kid that he found so..interesting? No..that wasn't the right word. Intriguing? No. That wasn't it either. 'Fuck Dixon, think. There is something more here that you are missing!' _His brain screeched; back peddling frantically even as he dangled on the very precipice of understanding. _It was damn near maddening._

"Yes well…" The man began, clearly struggling to form his unruly thoughts into words. Even then he was tempted to just break the tension and shove the kid towards the truck, trying in vain to quell the nervous vibrations that were running up the length of his arms as he forced himself to wait. His face hard kept and decidedly wary as his feet itched to start pacing. Feeling inexplicably cooped up despite the wide open space.

"I-I don't want you dying. Like _that_..Not for me." Glenn finally finished, fingers spidering across his narrow hips until they were unceremoniously shoved into his jean pockets. The words sounding like they were hardest words the kid had ever said. And he realized that in return, he had no idea what to even to say to that.

He _should_ be dead. He was almost positive of that fact. He had thought the scenario through enough times to know the difference between a slim chance and flippin' the bloody bird at fate herself. And yet, here he was. Having somehow taken down three geeks with nothing save for his belt knife and the size of his balls.

_He had a feeling karma was going to bite him on the ass for this one. Perhaps even literally._

Why had he done it? He couldn't even begin to formulate a half decent answer. And worse, the pile of dead ringed out around them certainly didn't seem keen on providing any answers. In fact, they actually made the situation all the more damning. Leaving them surrounded by the evidence of what he had done rather then the other way around.

He ran the inside of his arm across the expanse of his sweaty forehead, as if trying to wipe the very thoughts from his mind. And he wasn't sure whether to be angry or worried when it didn't work.

So after a long, threatening moment, he leaned down and handed the kid his abandoned pack, pulling on his own as he started off towards the truck. Throwing his response over his shoulder like it was some sort of after thought. As if the words _hadn't_ hurtcoming up, forcing them out like they were something flippant or even half truthful as the taste of bile rose high in the back of his throat. The phantom, acidic stink nearly making his eyes water as the sensation lingered.

"Who said anything about dying?" He shot back. Anger and confusion inexplicably growing as the full conations of what he had done fell over him like a ton of bricks. He had never felt like this before, never done anything this stupid neither. He felt completely off center, stomach twisting itself into cancerous knots as the back of his head continued to throb. Because _this_ was different, this wasn't as simple as sticking his neck out to help protect and provide for people. Too keep the others alive and decently healthy.

This wasn't that simple.

Because he hadn't even **thought **about it.Why?What the hell was wrong with him? _Shit_. He needed a puff. A pick me up. Something, _anything_ to clear the jumble of confusion and self doubt that was broiling in the back of his brain. Turning confidence and well affirmed aloofness into a mess of dark angles and unwelcome corners. _Like he was suddenly a stranger to his own thoughts. _

It was a heady and almost unmanning feeling. Because if he knew one thing for sure, it was that a Dixon sure as hell _didn't_ do self doubt! _Fuck this!_

"Dumbass." Glenn muttered from somewhere behind him, cussing out something fierce in a garbled mess of extended constants and misplaced vowels. The words sounding foreign, lilting, and worse of all..almost _fond_. Even with the kid looking like he was a hair breath away from putting on his bitch face.

And call him crazy, insane, or even damn near psychotic, but for some slightly homicidal reason, in spite of everything, he felt like he was bullets breath away from outright laughter.

…_He must have hit his head harder then he thought.._

He was still rubbing his hand across the back of his neck in frustration as he came around the back of the truck, flicking the lock on the driver's side through a unrolled window. Unable to help but notice the clear, tangled up hose of gas siphoning gear stuffed in back seat of the truck cab. _Smart girls._

And on pure impulse, just before he threw his pack into the back, he felt in between the sun visor, letting out a gratified grunt as the metallic jingle of the ignition keys hit the calloused flesh of his palm in one slightly awkward movement. _Nice._

"Com'on." He hollered, watching the kid as he came around the side of the truck, well deserved caution leeching through into each and every one of his footstep even as he kept right on bitching. Bypassing the blood and gore smeared across the surface of the door with a quick, but factitious air as he swung himself up into the passenger seat. Muttering darkly just under his breath about something that sounded oddly like: "Not what I mean when I said 'up shit creek.' "

He spared the kid a curious glance. But in the end he figured it was better that he _didn't_ know. God only knows what went on the kid's head anyway.

And as he righted the mirror and buckled himself in, he tried his best to ignore the way the seat was pulled up almost as far as it could go, adjusted and angled for a person much smaller then himself. Or the way a grey, weather beaten guitar case, wedged just behind the passenger seat occasionally caught the light. The vague outline of a long faded Texan cattle skull ironed lovingly into its side.

After a few heart stopping tries he coaxed the reluctant engine to life. Ignoring the indignant spluttering noise as the fuel lines kicked up a well deserved fuss. The gas gauge was flat lining on empty. But if they were lucky it would probably be enough to get them as far as camp.

And as they drove home, rare silence slowly descended. One that was as equal parts forced as it was natural. Because despite being covered from head to toe in both walker blood and pungent, mineral smelling clay, he found that the only real startling about the whole affair was the fact that he _wasn't_ shoving the kid away. Saying nothing when Glenn let his limbs sprawl halfway across the truck cab, encroaching on his personal space without a single word. The bold, warm weight of the man pressing against him like it was some sort of a dare. _Like he was testing him.._

Glenn, for his part didn't even seem to notice. Apparently still too caught up in keeping his nose in a knot. Refusing to say even so much as a single word in his direction, seemingly content for the moment to trade glares with him from underneath the brim of his baseball cap.

'_Bring it kid.' _He thought with a wry, internal grin. He was a Dixon. They were _born_ temperament.

Still, it had to be said, he wasn't exactly keen on listening to the kid stew for the next hour and a half. So on impulse he switched on the truck radio, not even thinking the action through as he fiddled with the dial. It was something that he still did on automatic. Something habitual and carried over from the way things were before.

…Only he ended up feeling worse when the static was the only thing that answered back…

**A/N #1:** Please let me know what you think? Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! (I like to respond to all my reviews so if you reviewed anonymously or I somehow missed you, I love you all, just saying.)

*Daryl shaped cookies for those that can spot the gratuitous episode two character line reference.

**A/N #2:** Sorry this chapter is again a bit on the short side. I will be putting up yet another in the next few days. The next few chapters will be more on the short side as there is a definable shift in the story. So, expect shorter chapters but more updates a week. Savy?

"_Every once in while, a person will do something obvious and direct that is no more than it appears to be. I think they do it to throw you off."__ -__Steven Brust_


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters. Lets just say things would be a lot more interesting if I ever did.

**Warnings:** See original chapter for a complete list of warnings. This particular chapter will contain significant adult language, tiny reference to drugs, violence, utterly shameless manly flirtation, and mild slash.

**Authors Note #1:** Please read and review. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism. The encouragement and constructive criticism your reviews provide makes the writing process that much more enjoyable!

**Rotation – **_**Chapter 10**_

After that day, a lot of things changed. He kept the kid pretty close. Not keen at all on letting the younger man go anywhere alone. Torn in more ways then one when he found both his brain and his body dead locked in a vicious inner battle, whenever he found himself getting up to accompany the man. Whether it was a supply run or a patrol where the kid was stuck with someone shifty like Shane for company, it didn't much matter, the point still remained.

Yet surprisingly, keeping it that way was something that turned out to be not as hard as he had first anticipated. He figured the kid would baulk and kick up a fuss. Seeing his actions as coddling rather then the proactive measures he kept telling himself they _actually_ were. But as it turned out, he shouldn't have even bothered. Finding the kid had practically put down roots where ever he happened to be at any given time.

It seemed as though, whether he wanted the man to or not, Glenn was sticking pretty damn close these days. Even the old fart had noticed it, as wrapped up as he was in tending to the blonde chick, Andrea. Only after a while, those piercing looks the man had taken to fixing him with whenever he rolled out of bed in the middle of night and stalked across camp to join the kid on watch, had grown almost…_understanding._

And while he certainly had no idea what was going on in the old man's brain, already half convinced that it was the early onset of dementia, he was also god damned sure it _wasn't_ **that. **Besides, it wasn't like the old man was liable to see reason nowadays anyway; he hadn't seen anyone so besotted since Merle had first laid eyes on his Harley. At any rate, he figured that at least the blond woman was keeping him busy these days. Less time for meddling in other peoples affairs as older people were known to do. At least all the old timers he'd even known. Always rooting for that elusive 'happily ever after' scenario that only ever happens in Hollywood or on some afternoon sob special on Lifetime.

But worse still those looks seemed to be spreading. Because soon after they returned to camp, flushed and punch drunk with their success and near miss, the kid had taken to shooting him with a series of weird glances as well. He wasn't even sure if 'glances' was the right word for it either. Because it was almost as if the man was actually looking for something, trying to suss him out all proper like. In fact it seemed as though every time he looked up, the kid was staring right back.

_He felt a triggers breath away from snapping over it and he had no idea why._

Another thing that changed was that it didn't take him long to bully the kid into learning a basic, gritty sort of self defence that he had mostly taught himself through out the course of his lifetime. It was a point of necessity really; after all you couldn't grow up with Merle for a big brother and fight your way through one too many bar brawls to count without picking up on a few things.

So, much to the young Korean's displeasure, a daily rough and tumble was added into their course of their everyday routines. And he was having none of the man's excuses either. The kid needed to be able to hold his own. Sure the man was quick and smart. But sometimes that just wasn't good enough, especially these days.

But that whole, self righteous spiel only made it worse, because when he had started this whole thing, he was pretty sure he had come into it with _good _intentions. _Pure_ _ones_ that revolved around helping the kid protect himself, nothing more, and nothing less. But now… Well, he wasn't exactly sure about that anymore.

_In fact his head hurt just thinkin' about it._

And predictably, in that blindingly obvious way that only ever becomes clear until _after _the fact, the self defence lessons ended up backfiring spectacularly. Even he had to admit to it. He wasn't sure who came away from them more frustrated. Glenn with his inability to land even a single solid hit on him, or himself for having dealing with the fact that the kid was so god damned close, and yet somehow not close enough.

He was driving himself mental and he had only himself to blame…. _Even to him it was a cold comfort._

The day had been all but trickling along, the air growing stale and almost stagnant as even the clouds themselves seemed stall, treading like molasses high up in the atmosphere. It was the kind of day that put you on edge for no good reason. Even the little ones were feeling it. All but bursting with nervous energy as they zoomed around camp like miniature dust devils on speed, both apparently caught up in the intricacies of a game that only the two of them could rightly understand.

It seemed almost disturbingly normal given the nature of the past few months.

But the strange and almost alien nature of the day remained. And he found that he just couldn't focus his attention on the tasks at hand. Becoming unaccustomedly distracted as he looked up from his position perched above the open hood of his pick up. A few grease blackened fingers slowly twirling an equally as filthy crescent wrench around and around in the close space. The motion idle, but lulling with a singular brand of graceful attention that anyone else in their right mind with have envied as he eyed the others from across camp.

Rick for his part stood off on his own, pointedly away from the others and half shielded between a few small patches of shade. _Introspective and calculating._ To anyone else the older man appeared to be simply watching the children, his mussed up brown hair finally free of his wide brimmed hat and curling victoriously around the curve of his ears. But the man himself seemed almost troubled, distracted. And he was pretty sure he knew why. Ever since the CDC, the man's eyes seemed to have hardened, often straying between Shane and his wife like he was trying to put to together some sort of jig saw puzzle that was missing half it's pieces.

Personally he figured that the man already knew what had been going on. By now how could he not? It was admitting that fact to himself that was the problem. After all, no one really wanted to find out that their misses had been doing the nasty with their best friend. Apocalypse or not, that kind of family dramatics never ended well. Either way, there was nothin' to do but wait till the fireworks he supposed.

It wasn't long after that that he straightened; abandoning any progress he might have made making adjustments to the fuel lines. Having initially harboured the vain hope of better conserving what little gas he had left. A point that had pretty much rendered itself moot as far as gas was concerned these days. Instead, he caught the kid's eye over the top of the hood, wiping his greasy hands on a rag before he motioned towards their make shift training field.

And he was gratified in spite of himself when the man made not a single word of protest, apparently just as grateful as himself for something more to do then watch the others sink any further into their own introspective moods. It seemed like it was just one of those off days all around. A day where a man needed a distraction from himself just as much as he needed an ice cold six pack and a full pack of Marlboro reds on a sizzling, summer afternoon.

_And predictably, just because life liked screwin' with him,, a distraction he got…_

Perhaps it all came down to the slow, pensive nature of the day, but when it _did_ happen he wasn't prepared for it. Finding himself distracted by the vaguely muffled sounds of Lori and Shane's latest argument, secluded in the wild black berry thicket only a few yards from the clearing they had claimed as a practise area. Violence and tension practically dripping off every word that left their angry, venomous lips. _Actions and words all but promising violence.._

He was only partially paying attention as he deflected a few of the Korean's hits. Already half wondering if he was going to have to intervene when one of the kid's fists slipped through the barrier of his upraised arms and sent him sprawling, going arse over tit to land square on his unsuspecting back.

His breath whooshed out in a long, ragged stream, feeling the bones in his jaw shift. Cracking ominously even as he went air borne, pitching backwards in a rough jumble of flailing limbs and sweat dampened hair. His vulnerable skin grating across the loose gravel with an all encompassing sting, rising above the thudding twinge growing in his jaw that was already pounding out in a wounded beat that threatened to deafen him completely.

_The little shit had a mean right hook._

"Sorry man, you okay?" Glenn questioned. Hunched over at his side and massaging his hand as he looked down at him, the kid's tone warring between anxiety and surprise. But still far too smug for his liking…

_He wasn't sure if he should be proud or pissed off._

But either way, he was not about to let the kid get the best of him. So in a quick, half aborted movement, he tensed his muscles upwards and instead of accepting the man's hand, he feinted. Hooking the kids legs out from under him and sending him crashing down beside him, the man's sneaker clad feet practically level with his chin as the sudden skid pelted him with an uneven layer of gravel and dry, Georgian dust.

The soft hush of the long grass welcomed him home as he slumped back down into the dirt. Feeling unaccountably pleased with himself as the moist tendrils rasped gently along his sides. Tickling the flesh at his hips where his dirty green shirt had ridden up, exposing a proud strip of well muscled navel. The rough, scar flecked skin coloured with a thin trail of light brown hairs, winding it's way down to disappear under the waist band of his equally as dirty jeans. While a small smattering of dark freckles trickled along underneath, subtle but undeniably present as they darted across the outlines of a few barely discernable tattoos.

_..He was struck by the fact that it felt a lot like contentment…_Like he could sit here, slumped into the Georgian soil like a possum basking across the sun warmed black top for hours and still be perfectly happy... And while he didn't know how he felt about thoughts like that, he was just as sure that he damn well wasn't about to move for anything less then a nuclear explosion or one of his mama's home baked strawberry crisps.

And for a long moment neither of them said a word. Too busy trying to bring air into their bruised lungs and collect the remnants of their tattered egos to worry about something mundane as words, until the younger man stirred, a single arm coming up to shield his eyes from the afternoon sun as he made to speak.

"You are _such_ a bastard." Glenn finally remarked, the words winding up from somewhere around the vicinity of his left ankle, the kid sounding just about as pissed off as he was winded.

But it was the tone alone that did it. Making the corners of his lips twitch before the muscles themselves finally succumbed, curving upwards into the first honest smile he cracked in what felt like months. The emotions behind the action pure, and decidedly undiluted as he grinned up into the cloud strewn sky.

And as he looked up, squinting through the high glare towards the clouds that were just starting to edge into the horizon, his jaw smarting in a way that made him sure the hit was going to bruise up something fierce, he privately had to agree.

He really _was_ a bastard.

**A/N #1:** Please let me know what you think? Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! (I like to respond to all my reviews so if you reviewed anonymously or I somehow missed you, I love you, just saying.)

**A/N #2:** Short chapter is short. But you have been spoiled with three chapters this week. So..ummm..NEENER!

"_Flirting is the act of making a man feel pleased with himself." –Helen Rowland._


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters. Though if they gave it to me I certainly wouldn't say no.

**Warnings:** See original chapter for a complete list of warnings. This particular chapter will contain significant adult language, violence, and mild slash.

**Authors Note #1:** Please read and review. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism. The encouragement and constructive criticism your reviews provide makes the writing process that much more enjoyable!

**Rotation – **_**Chapter 11**_

It wasn't long after that moment in the clearing, with the kid's long, colt legs caught in between his own. A messed up jumble of heaving chests and the bittersweet tang of an honest sweat, all underlain with the broiling simmer of barely understood frustration that he found himself making tracks for the deep woods.

He felt caged, edgy. Cooped up and stir crazy. His muscles all but singing with nervous tension, poised on the precipice of understanding something that he wanted more then anything, yet at the same time, instinctively baulked from. He didn't know the how's or even the whys of it.. And he just _couldn't_…

_He needed time to think. _

So when the opportunity arose to head out on a hunt, he all but jumped at the chance. They needed the meat anyway, with the goods from the last supply run already beginning to dwindle. Food was getting low again. Though, even he had to admit that given the nature of his tumultuous thoughts, it sounded more like an excuse to clear off for a few days then anything else.

_He didn't even want to think about it anymore, and yet, at the same time, he couldn't seem to help it. There was something about the kid that shot through his self control. Riddling right through it like acid eating through metal. Slow..but sure. _

He waited until the kid was off with Dale before he grabbed his gear and headed over to tell Rick. Temporarily shaking the man out of the self imposed daze he seemed to be living under ever since the CDC, looking out at the world with mistrustful, wounded eyes. And while he wasn't completely opposed to the change, believing that it made the man sharper and less likely to do something moralistically stupid, he wasn't exactly sure if he _liked_ it.

_It just didn't click. Not for Grimes. And the man was taking the whole wounded Coon dog look to an entirely different level nowadays. _

He didn't know why he'd left that way. He only knew that he _had._ Not saying so much as a single word to the kid about it before he melted into the underbrush and out of sight. He had even passed the two of them, ghosting past unobtrusively on his way out of camp. Watching the both of them putter around with the Winnebago's engines. It had become a familiar sight of late, the two of them having taken to fiddling around with it almost obsessively in their spare time. Desperate to squeeze just a little more life out of that worn through hose even though they both knew it was a lost cause. It was just a matter of time before that thing decided to kick the bucket.

But even _that _was something of a lie, because deep down he knew why he was _really _leaving. He needed time to clear his head, time to think things through. But even then, in all honesty, he figured he had about a snow balls chance in _hell_ of actually sifting through the poisonous, severely tangle web that was his..his.._feelings_. Emotions he had never really faced at the best of times were now streaming across his consciousness. And he didn't like it. He didn't like it one bit.

_Christ. He just needed time to think is all! Was that really so much too ask?_

He needed time away from the insistent, hungry mouths and constant bitching, away from the petty squabbles and the shady nature of the others affairs! But perhaps most of all, he needed time **alone**, without the kid underfoot. He needed to clear his head without distraction, and get down to the meat of the problem with nothing more then the sound of the wind in his ears and the outline of a fat buck in his sights.

Inwardly he seethed. Was this what he'd let the kid reduce him to? Mooning and moping over the man like some sort of blushing virgin? **Hell no. **His eyebrows arched mutinously at the mere implication.

'_Snap out of it Dixon. And get those thoughts right 'outta your damn head.' _He sneered viciously. His mind was awash with a thousand different thoughts, and each one was progressively more suggestive then the last. It was like being stuck in a friggin' nightmare.

The whole thing made him think about things like sincere lies and candy coated truths. Like almost every relationship he had ever been in. Where good intentions masqueraded around as mistruths and hyperboles fell from the lips like water streaming from a kitchen facet. But perhaps more to the point it made him think about long sighs of relief at the idea of a closing front door. Moments from his past where he would drive some sweet southern thing home, unable to tell her the words she wanted to hear standing up by her mamma's front porch swing. His reluctant hands stuffed in his jean pockets as his tongue refused to spit out even a kind, little white lie.

Moments where you know you should be feeling guilty, guilty that you don't love her. But you don't. You can't. Because despite how hard you've tried and how much you _know _that she is absolutely perfect. The kind of woman that is whole bloody marriage package all wrapped up with a head full of honey brown curls and flaring hips. All but gift wrapped with a set of delicate hands, a fiery temper, and kind eyes. And she is there, in spite of it all, standing right in front of you…_wanting _you. Except you just can't get over the fact that whenever you look into those perfect, forest green eyes, you see nothing more then a pretty face. Because she doesn't mean anything to you. Not in the way that matters at least. Not in the way where electricity sparks down your spine and a warm sweat settles in. And worse still, it occurs to you that perhaps she never did and it is only now that you are realizing it.

…_Fuck this shit._

Within half a day he picked up on a day old trail. The bushes in the marsh lands not five miles from camp had been stripped bare of their leaves and tender shoots, the damp soil around them liberally trampled with heavy hoof prints. It was practically a signature, standing out like a neon sign on the Vegas strip to his well trained eye.

_Dinner._

He had her in his sights on the morning of the second day, and _damn_ was she gorgeous. Her coat was full and unmarred, styled with bright, healthy colors and perfectly speckled markings. She was wide in the shoulders, powerful in the body, and trim in the flanks without being too lean. Sleek to the point that she had just the right amount of meat on her that you _knew_ the flavour would be enough to make your taste buds sing. She was easily the most perfect, well seasoned doe he had ever laid eyes on..

_And she was all his…_

He breathed in a silent, steadying breath. Adjusting himself minutely as he leaned over the naturalized ridge that marked the only obstruction between them. _Perfect._ He lived for kills like this. It was something in the way that the shot lined up. Where everything was exactly where it should be, calm, controlled and centered. Even the doe, having not yet sensed his presence, still stood chewing complacently, providing him with a clean, dead center target.

_It was the kind of kill that a man had the right to be proud of._

His index and middle fingers drifted down to the trigger. The movement calm and deliberately slow as the breath he breathed in was gradually released from between his tightly clenched teeth. _This was the moment. _The moment where your eyes narrow down the sight, time coasts down to trickle and all that is left is yourself and the target.

_This was it. The shot was ready._

And just as his fingers drew tight against the trigger a rustling in the bushes by the doe's left foreleg caught his ear. He inadvertently mirrored the exact movement of the doe as he cocked his head, peering across the distance through the dense foliage towards where the sound had initially come from. But after a short moment he dismissed it, unconsciously readjusting his aim to account for the adjusted angle, and mentally resettling himself even as his fingers fell across the trigger. Tensing across the length of the bow as the soil beneath him cracked and shifted, the sound oddly muted, silenced by the thin under growth. Almost like the ground itself somehow just knew.

_Almost...Com'on.._

**A/N #1:** Please let me know what you think? Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! (I like to respond to all my reviews so if you reviewed anonymously or I somehow missed you, I love you all, just saying.)

**A/N #2:** Short chapter is short. Sorry, life has been INSANE.

"_I was an accomplice in my own frustration."__ -__Peter Shaffer_


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters. Though if they gave it to me I certainly wouldn't say no.

**Warnings:** See original chapter for a complete list of warnings. This particular chapter will contain significant adult language, violence, and mild slash.

**Authors Note #1:** Please read and review. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism. The encouragement and constructive criticism your reviews provide makes the writing process that much more enjoyable!

**Rotation – **_**Chapter 12**_

But a fraction of a second later he found himself cursing inwardly. Cussing out a blue streak just under his breath when with another small rustle, just outside the line of his sight, the curious brown and white mask of a newborn poked its small, spit dampened head into view.

_Damnit!_

Inwardly seething, he ground his teeth. Grinding the back molars viciously as frustrated disappointment coursed through him like liquid fire. The sanctity of the moment had been lost, torn away. And his heart nearly skipped a beat as his fingers recoiled, flying off the trigger as if he had been burned. He breathed inward for the first time since he had tensed his fingers along the trigger, lungs screaming for oxygen as he forced himself to remain absolutely silent.

In fact he remained remarkably still as well, his face permanent and unmoving. The only outward sign of his feelings limited to motions such as quick, irritated swipes across his face, wiping away the muggy sweat beading at his temples, and replacing it with the cool, slightly gritty texture of the loamy forest soil.

_Fuckin' figures. The first deer in miles just __**had**__ to be a nursing mother. Couldn't they catch a bloody break any more?_

He rested his chin against the metal frame of his bow. Letting the edges dig into his skin in a way that was just shy of being painful. The late afternoon light seemed to highlight the newborns white coloring, with the dappled ivory fur streaming down from head to tail in an uneven stripe that set him apart from his grey tinted mother.

And like water straining out of a sieve, the anger and frustration gradually dissolved, soothed to a mere simmer by the weight of innate patience and experience. But even as he let it go, refusing to wallow in what he couldn't change, he was still human enough to recognize the keenness of the disappointment for what it was. _He was hungry damnit. They all were._

Still, a kill was never a sure thing. And it was the hunter that forgot that who was bound to come home empty handed. That was just the way nature worked. You went in with all your skills, but that didn't guarantee nothin'. His kill right before that giant cluster fuck that had been Merle and Atlanta rose immediately to mind. That deer had been _his_. He'd tracked the damn thing for _miles_ and hunted it for more then two god damn _days_. Hell, he had even killed it and it got it so close to camp that it was practically already roasting in the coals and it had _still_ been taken from him.

_Fucking geeks._

But _that_ in itself was the nature of the hunt, the possibility of failure. Sure the introduction of the dumb dead bastards was a new one, but the idea of a _predator_ wasn't. Ethics aside, if you took off your moral blinders, it wasn't really that much different. Because those things roaming the city streets and stalking through the dusty Georgian undergrowth, were simply the newest assholes on top of the fucking food chain. They were prized catch, the trophy kill. The one hunt that made you think twice about crossing that city line.

He shook his head, posture poker straight yet somehow still standoffish. Letting the tension still notched tight in the muscles of his shoulders lessen the smallest of bits. Because he knew where this was all going, he knew where these sorts of thoughts invariably led. Right back into that that inscrutable carbon cipher, that existential question, that acrid implosion of self doubt and confusion.

Because this wasn't just about anger and confusion, empty bellies, or right versus wrong, this was about _respect_. About appreciating and recognizing where you came from, respecting the elements of life that provided for your daily needs, and treating them accordingly. It was about rationalizing your existence to realize that without everything else, without nature and nurture and all those other, seemingly insignificant things that existed between, humanity would be nothing more then a small, rather uninteresting blip in the perverse musings of something else that had evolved in our stead.

The point however, still remained. Indeed, one could even go so far as to say that such thoughts were all the more prevalent now, especially considering the way things seemed to have changed. And while he wasn't the only one that had noticed the regression, he figured that unlike the others, he was one of the only ones that actually had a snowballs chance in hell of living through it. For him there was really no other choice. It was either live or die. No grey area, no almost, or hopeful wishing.

_The alternative made damn sure of that.._

The hair on the nape of his neck prickled. His nerve endings spastic and flighty as his muscles flexed, skin singing as a breeze coursed along his sweat dampened skin, chilling the skin that it found there. He squinted across the close distance, stance careful as his thumb trailed across the outline of his lips, the motion considering and just shy of critical as his nail met with a few days worth of stubble. Forcing himself to watch as the fawn took another few cautious steps, legs almost vibrating with the effort as it fought to hold itself steady. It's small, wide brown eyes taking the world in without censure, with wonder and a basic sort of levity that he understood right down to the core.

…_There was as design here, a structure, hell, even a cycle. It was all here, clear as fucking day. Everything fit. Everything connected and had a place. And it had been this way long before human beings ever came into the equation, and god willing, it always would._

A man owed his respect to the things that granted him life. It wasn't a lesson that had to be taught to be understood. It was something that was innate and instinctive. _Basic_. The only problem was that few people actually understood that, or worse yet, actually _wanted_ to _understand_. Because in reality no one really wanted to be reminded of the one, single most failing of mankind, that deluded belief that we hold some sort of privileged place on this world. Because in the end, it was just that, a _delusion_, conjecture created by people that huddled in their well lit homes when night fell. People that kept close to their manicured lawns and police patrolled streets, trying to pretend that they _weren't_ afraid of the dark.

It brought him back to how he had felt in the beginning. Being almost disgusted at the waste, when his eyes had taken in the sight of the others, a ragged, soft handed group milling about in fucked up sort of holding pattern. He had been unable to rationalize how out of all the people that _could_ have survived, he was stuck with a bunch of hoity-tote' city folk that couldn't find their own arse with a god damned flashlight.

But at the same time, he wasn't about to fool himself, this was also just as much about common sense as it was anything else. In short, today's yearling was next year's fat doe or strong legged buck. So offing either one of them now was much akin to shooting his foot at the ankle, because even if he _did_ kill the Doe, the fawn was too young to survive on its own, especially being this far away from the main herd.

For a few long moments he watched, torn between indecision and frustration as the gangly little thing pranced around. Weaving in between its mother's flanks and butting against it her playfully, circling its new surroundings in growing curiosity, periodically darting underneath the softness of his mothers belly to nurse before tottering off again to explore. It was an attitude that was disturbingly reminiscent of a child who had just learned how to crawl.

His lower lip had gotten caught between his teeth, and he gnawed on the chapped flesh as sweat began to bead at his temples. Salt streams trickling down through his hairline as the familiar burn arced through his muscles as he kept the bow tensed to fire.

…_One second. Maybe two, that was all he needed. One shot each to pierce the jugular. The kill shot. Quick, clean. Like a breath of fresh air slowly brought into the lungs.._

But in spite of himself, his eyes remained fixed on the two animals idling in his sights, both of them blissfully unaware that their fate was quietly being weighed not ten meters from the spot where they were grazing. His eyes narrowed down the sight, fresh copper exciting his taste buds as he bit through the dryness of his lower lip. Worrying the wounded flesh without thought, teeth unconsciously vicious, not even noticing when a thin little stream pebbled down to meet the coarseness of his chin.

When it all came down to it, they desperately _needed_ the meat. And at this rate, they probably wouldn't live long enough to see this babe shed his fawn colors. And as if to prove this point his stomached burbled angrily. Hunger gnawing at his gut, empty belly screeching at the offence of another day empty, still spoiled at the mere memory of those few square meals at the CDC.

_Across the distance the doe flicked her ear, munching unconcernedly on a few tender shoots as her sharp hooves shifted in the loamy soil._

His fingers tightened along the trigger. Breath leaving his hollowed cheeks in a long, steady rush as the cool metal of the bow welcomed him back. Hand twitching in temptation as it firmed around the stock, skin melting back into form as if he had never left. Except that was the_ exact_ moment that the doe leaned down, nosing the top of her fawn's head when its long legs tangled together and it collapsed in an indignant brown and white speckled heap in the long grass.

_Fuck._

The fingers caressing the trigger slowly pulled away, and he shook his head in frustration. Unsure if he was really angry at himself or the situation. Finally he looked away, pausing as he yanked up the collar of his shirt, wiping away the sweat that was steadily trickling down from his hairline, the oppressive Georgian heat seeming bound and determined to make him keel over with heat stroke.

He ran his hand through his sweat slicked hair, combing it off his forehead as a few stray drops flew off his fingertips. It wasn't good form to shoot a mother _or_ a fawn. Even Pop used to say that it was plum bad luck. And that, coming from a drunkard and a trophy hunter that had rotted out his own liver long before the Lord should'a taken him was certainly saying something.

He ran his tongue over his teeth, finding that the heat was present even there, like a furnace venting up from his throat. _Christ it was hot. _The thought alone made him long to just drown himself in the water from canteen he had in the pack, or better yet, do a swan dive off the reservoir back at the Quarry at the old campsite just outside Atlanta. It was god damned tempting, but he shook it off, turning his attention back to the matter at hand.

Raising a cautious head, the doe had taken a quick glance around the gully, still chewing on a mouthful of fern shoots before she made to move, nudging her newborn along in front of her as they slowly, but steadily began heading south, picking their way easily through the thick underbrush.

Thinking quickly he levered himself off the rock strewn ridge he had been taking cover behind, feeling the dusty sod clinging to his bare forearms as he moved forward, crouching down as he watched their progress. Boot soles taking root in the dirt as his keen eyes took in the nature of brush ahead of him.

With a fawn that young, he knew the doe wasn't going to be taking any chances. She was heading back to join the safety of the herd. And for him that meant not only a wider, more choice selection of game, but also a chance to get a bearing on where the local herd denned, information that would proof useful if they chose to stay in these parts for any considerable length of time.

It was risk, but in the end he figured it was a calculated one. If worse came to worse he could always change his mind. Killing the doe and fawn might not be right, but there was certainly something to be said for desperate measures. They had to eat, that was a cold, hard fact. Wasn't kind o'course, but it was honest. And at the end of the day that was all that really mattered.

So he let the fawn and doe leave the gully unhindered, counting out a score of long, deliberate moments before he rose from his crouch. Slowly making his way forward, and readying himself to head after them, already planning to circle his way around the pair as they made their way back to the herd. Wanting to get a good idea of the landscape and distance as he mentally mapped the terrain, mind already jumping ahead to the positioning of the herd and how the upcoming hunt might come to pass.

He shook himself over once, loosening the cricks in his neck before he shouldered his crossbow, buck knife poised and ready in the sheath on left hip, feeling strangely conscious of the cold, metallic chill of the Glock-7 he had shoved in the back of his pants before he'd left. It was a chill that had refused to submit to the oppressive heat, and warm to his body temperature. It was enough to make him yearn for the warm wood stock of the Remington he had left at camp, the rifle being far too impractical to bring on a bow hunt.

_No use in wasting the bullets.._ _Besides, he didn't hunt with shot._

He chewed on his lower lip, teeth playing with the split skin, angling off the soft corners as he slicked the damp hair off his face in a single, well accustomed movement. Squinting into the distance as he cocked his head, ears tracking the quiet, barely discernable sounds that marked the pairs slow progress through the undergrowth.

_It was time. _

And as he slipped silently into the thick underbrush, winding his way though the trailing tree limbs and wide leafed ferns, for reasons he couldn't quite understand, he found himself pausing. Eyes narrowing as he looked back the way he came, sight hindered by the slight incline and the dense, Georgian underbrush, as he looked back towards camp. And for the life of him, he couldn't quite quell the feeling that _this _time he knew _exactly _why..

…Because it had only just occurred to him, right in that very moment, for the first time in a very long time that he might be just a little bit in love….

**A/N #1:** Please let me know what you think? Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! (I like to respond to all my reviews so if you reviewed anonymously or I somehow missed you, I love you all, just saying.)

**A/N #2:** OH MAN. I am sorry for the lack of updates! Life has been insane of late. Hopefully this will calm the rampaging hordes?

"_You are only what you are when no one is looking." -Robert C. Edwards_


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters. Though if they gave it to me I certainly wouldn't say no.

**Warnings:** See original chapter for a complete list of warnings. This particular chapter will contain significant adult language, violence, and mild slash.

**Authors Note #1:** Please read and review. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism. The encouragement and constructive criticism your reviews provide makes the writing process that much more enjoyable!

**Rotation – **_**Chapter 13**_

Fluid colors skimmed across the surface of his mind. _Flush_. Like the warm glow of the sun as its rays glance across closed lids. There was an angular chin, all soft ivory and impossible smoothness, mixed together with the sensation of coiled strength and unexpected virility hidden just under the beguiling thinness of skin. _He knew this_. He had felt that strength, that wiry force and fractured determination.

.._That good old fashioned South Georgian gumption._

Awareness flickered, as reality went half lit and flighty behind his eyes. The shadows reversed, twisting on their heads until they became backlight by a darkening canvas of macabre colors. He shifted in place, fingers twitching spasmodically at his sides, as if paused in the act of reaching out towards something he could neither name nor define. _–Don't.. _Something wasn't right. Something wasn't-no_.. __**No..**_ Soft ivory had turned into sharp teeth and spurting crimson. _Run.. _But he just _couldn't_ because everything was coming down to the panic fuelled click of his gun ringing out empty. The echoes turning hollow and sullen recognition dawned. Dead eyes. _Don't look. _Not this… _Not like this…_-_Please.._

He jerked himself out of a soft doze, confusion roiling like nausea in his gut as he realized what he had done. His thoughts muddled and slow as awareness came rushing back. Startled, he shifted, limbs hushing through the long grass as he sought to regain his bearings. Cross bow slipping down the length of his arm before he brought it back up to rest in the crux, cradling the weapon in the joint between his shoulder and chest as he embraced the sudden chill. Relishing the sudden sting of cold steel as it lanced across his skin.

_Shit._

His chest grew tight from the effort as he fought to keep himself still, all too aware of the furry pair still sleeping in the hollow not twelve meters away. '_Stupid, stupid, stupid_.' He muttered. _Getting' soft Dixon. Weak. _It took him a moment, but he shook it off, breathing out in a long, controlled rush as he worked the kinks out of his neck. He was damned lucky they hadn't moved on him. He never slept on a hunt, never. It was just too damn risky, especially when the stakes were this high.

He looked up through the thin forest canopy, blinking away the last vestiges of sleep as he took in the encompassing stillness. This is what he liked about the deep woods, appreciating its simplicity and complex quiet. Often finding himself longing for the moment where he could just walk into the bush and leave everything else behind, sometimes for days or even weeks at a time. And it always seemed to boil down to the same god damned reason. It was because the forest had neither good nor ill intentions. _It just was._ The forest was brutal, kind, apathetic, dangerous, and beautiful all at the same time. It never pretended to be anything different. Not like people. Not like feelings and emotions or that niggling ache that a single, well placed word can so often bring to bear.

He breathed in deeply, the air moist and refreshingly clear of the stink of fear and uncertainty that seemed to permeate the very air around the campsite. There was no sign of man here. No buildings or monuments, no man made trails, roads, or even street lights. And he couldn't help but marvel at the contrast. It had to be said that nature seemed largely unaffected by the growing threat humanity was facing, there was no sign of the geeks here, no sign of leaking blood and human suffering. But then again, why shouldn't it? Nature didn't need humanity. Not like _they_ needed it at any rate.

The moon stood out strong, like a big old pizza pie glowing down from above. There was hardly any cloud cover, but somehow everything seemed almost muted. Raising an eyebrow he tracked the moons progress, only idly wondering at the time. His watch had run out of batteries nearly a month ago and he hadn't seen the sense in replacing it. After all there was little left to mark times progression, nothing to give the concept of time any _lasting _significance at any rate.

..Because there was no more rush hour, no more work, or even closing time. No fifteen minute coffee breaks or seven pm suppers. No more grocery lines or two am last calls at the bar. No nine fifteen late shows or Sunday morning specials on the TV…_There wasn't nothin'. Not anymore._

He ran a hand across his face with a muted grunt, ignoring the sting of stubble grinding against his palms, still more angry at himself then anything else. It wasn't that he had lost track of the time, having grown somehow unaware of the slow, but progressive stream that marked the seconds, minutes, and finally hours that made up the structure of a single day. It was more that the concept of time itself had somehow faded in importance.

_It was an easy thing to do. Even before all this. Time doesn't matter much out here. At least not in the same way as it did back home._

He knew there were one thousand four hundred and forty minutes in a single day, two thousand eight hundred and eighty in two. Just the same as he knew that there were eight six thousand four hundred seconds in a day. In fact he could recite that number down to the smallest _fraction_ of a decimal point, an ability he largely attributed to the rather militant approach his Math teacher had employed when they started working on their percentage unit back in fourth grade.

It took him back to long nights spent alone after dinner, banished both from Merle and the blaring television in the living room. Hunched over the kitchen table pretending to try and make sense of his homework when all he was really doing was listening to the dialogue from some rerun of M*A*S*H or JAG. Momma had eventually gotten wise to him though, and started making Merle watch television downstairs on that ancient set Momma had inherited from Grandma after she had passed. It was of those dinosaur sets with the wood paneling and bunny ears, its reception was shit and the buttons were busted, but she never could seem to find it in her to throw it away. Merle hadn't been thrilled about it either, but then again he had never really done _his own_ homework by himself either.

He was brought back to the present some time before dawn when the doe rose from amidst the tall river reeds, looking around her cautiously before stretching her long legs as she leaned down to nuzzle her sleepy fawn to its feet. The message itself was clear, _it was time to go._

The sun was bright and paused at its height by the time his calculated risk paid off. He ended up hitting pay dirt when the fluffy tailed pair led him straight to the herd about mid afternoon on the third day. It was a sizable herd, fat and sleek with good health, and boasting a large number of yearlings to boot, all sheltered in a sling-shot gulley that was outlined by a natural boundary of shale and mossy mountain rock_._

_It was a killing valley._

He lost the doe and youngling as they picked their way through to the center of the herd, enveloped by at least thirty identical brown and white speckled hides. But despite the crush it didn't take him long to find his target. _In fact she stood out like a hippie at a gun convention._

It was an old doe that was grazing just on the outskirts of the crush, nibbling the heads off a patch of wildflowers as she kept a wary eye on a group of fawns playing rambunctiously nearby. Her hide was criss-crossed with the scars of more then a dozen old wounds, movements stiff and careful with old age and injury. Even her back hind leg appeared to be lame, held up from the ground more often then not as she chewed. He shook his head in muted surprise. _It was a wonder she had survived for as long as she had._

Settling into place against a rocky outcrop he pulled an arrow into the slot, muscles screaming at the abuse as he squirmed forward, mindless of the digging rocks and razor sharp points. He took her in as his eyes flickered, aiming down through the sight as he watched the muscles underneath her skin ripple and catch. And for a long moment, he forced himself to simply look. Body humming as his finger pressed tight against the trigger, caressing the tension coiled just underneath as something similar to recognition flowed through him. The correlation sparked across his consciousness with an intensity that was akin to a flash flood in the desert.

She was a fighter... _A survivor._

He breathed in deeply, the air around him growing humid and close. Refreshingly clear of everything save for the scent of crushed pine underneath his feet, and the tartness of his own sweat. He had to do this right. She deserved that much. Everything in this world had it's time. And today, that time was hers.

With another breath he brought his shoulders up, muscles tensing as he aimed directly at the specked nape of her grizzled brown throat. And as he leaned forward, shoe soles curling around the sharp outcroppings of jagged edged rocks, the shot lined up perfectly._ Like it was meant to be. _

His breathing slowed, lungs held tight and controlled as his vision tunnelled, narrowing down the length of the sight until the target alone was all he could see. _Yes…_

…_Calm…Close…Almost there…_

The arrow released with a sharp twang, hitting his target with a single fleshy thud. Piercing the jugular straight through and taking her down into the soft grass without even a single, struggling kick. It was the perfect kill, quick and clean…

Only he didn't even get a moment to enjoy it. Because the same second his finger pressed down against the trigger, a strange, _impossible_ voice pierced through the stillness. Blaring through the muted, forest quiet with all the subtly of a rampaging cement mixer.

…_A rampaging cement mixer driven by a pathological schizophrenic with anger management issues… _

And not surprisingly, just because someone upstairs apparently really, _really_ hated him, that was the _exact _same moment that the earth began to move…

**A/N #1:** Please let me know what you think? Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! (I like to respond to all my reviews so if you reviewed anonymously or I somehow missed you, I love you all, just saying.)

**A/N #2:** Again sorry about the wait. Masters university work is INSANE. I am visualizing perhaps three or fours more chapters at this point. I am hoping to get this completed before the new season! Fingers crossed! (Have a feeling that might be a pipe dream though..)

"_A pessimist sees the difficulty in every opportunity; an optimist sees the opportunity in every difficulty." – Winston Churchill_


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters. Though if they gave it to me I certainly wouldn't say no.

**Warnings:** See original chapter for a complete list of warnings. This particular chapter will contain significant adult language, violence, and mild slash.

**Authors Note #1:** Please read and review. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism. The encouragement and constructive criticism your reviews provide makes the writing process that much more enjoyable!

**Rotation – **_**Chapter 14**_

A few things ended up happening at once. First he had gotten his deer. That much he was absolutely sure of. Second was that the moment of victory was effectively lost and he was too busy nearly having a bloody _heart attack_ to worry about the damn deer as Glenn's voice blared out like a loud speaker just off to his right.

…_Five seconds earlier and the kid would have completely fucked up the shot._

Obviously unable to see either him or the herd that grazed just a few meters away, the kid appeared in his sight a moment later. Stumbling a bit as he tripped over a rocky outcropping a mere second after the final echoes of his call faded back into oblivion. But in the end that was all it took. The herd panicked, startled by both the sudden sound and the chasing echoes.

_Figures._

The ground trembled as vibrations zipped up his skin, raising the tiny hairs that trailed up the length of his forearms as the sensation leeched upwards from the soil. Humming out in a familiar, pounding rhythm even as the sound got caught somewhere amidst the density of his bones, seeping in like water soaking through raw cotton. _Shit!_

He leapt to his feet, barely balancing atop the rocky ridge he had been resting against only a moment before, throwing caution and subtly to the wind as he saw the deer begin to move. Because the peaceful, grazing herd that had been there a mere moment earlier was gone. Replaced by a desperate, panic stricken crush as the group dashed forward, trampling over their own kin, as each and every one of them angled towards the same bottle neck gap that marked the only entrance or exit from the gulley itself. And purely because of geography the herd had only _one_ way to go, funnelling out towards a point where the ground narrowed out into a small naturalized path. Which was of course, coincidentally, **right** where the kid was standing.

He could see the whites of the man's eyes as the kid faltered, freezing in place as his brain struggled to make sense of what he was actually seeing. He had been prepared for the possibility of a stampede of course, hell, he had picked his spot because it not only provided him with a clear shot, but put him safely out of harms way if the herd spooked when he took down one of their own. But Glenn hadn't. Christ, for all the kid knew _he_ wasn't even _here_ in the first place.

_Bloody_ _Fuck! _

He hit Glenn running, side swiping him out of the way just in time as the massive buck that led the pack flew past. Its razor sharp antlers thrust forward, brazen and wild as its powerful forelegs trampled the ground beneath into a muddy pulp. It was gravity and momentum that did the rest, taking them flying down a hidden incline in a painful tangle of flailing limbs, billowing shirt sleeves and the sharp scrape of shoe soles grinding against vunerable shins.

They came to a stop in the middle of a naturalized ditch. It was a composite shelf carved out of the dirt and rock by eons of winter run off, effectively hidden from the trail and gulley above by a layer of thick undergrowth. Not thick enough to save his bruised bones and twisted back however. Damn, that had been close. Too close.

_He was going to fuckin' strangle that kid._

By the time he forced the air back into his bruised lungs he came to two rather swift realizations. The first was that what he was lying on was actually warm and legitimately breathing. The second was that he had a face full of soft, inky black hair and he had absolutely _no _idea what to do about it.

He kept his eyes wide open despite the fact that the matted long grass and the twisted collar of the kids t-shirt that was blocking his light. Instead he simply blinked into the darkness. Trying and failing to ignore how they both rose up a few millimetres every time the kid breathed, or the fact that the bend of the kid's knee had somehow shifted perilously close to the inseam of his crotch.

_Well, damn._

And after a long moment, while he _still_ didn't really know what to do about it, he _did_ actually need to breathe. So he did, inhaling deeply, with the press of his lips still resting somewhere in the vicinity of the crook of the kid's neck. Something that in retrospect actually turned out to be a _big _fucking mistake.

_Because really, who knew hair could actually smell __**that**__ good?_

The kid shifted underneath him, as if life had suddenly been restored back into his prone limbs. And the single gust of air that left the younger man's lips lanced across the back of his scalp like a caress. Ruffling the sweat thickened strands like they were feather soft. He bit the sensation back, fighting the sudden steal of warmth that had begun spreading out from his center, moving just under his skin like neurons firing speeding towards the brain, his body reacting without his given consent.

He knew he should probably move, but he didn't. Instead he ended up following the kid's example and just laid there. Trying not to think too hard about the way the kid's skin had gone slick, sliding against his own. Or about the way that the venerable arch of the kid's neck had never looked so tempting.

His fingers twitched, and almost of their own volition ghosted along the arch of the kid's hip so slightly that it _could _have been an accident. But the kid's hips tilted, canting infinitesimally to the side as their belt buckles caught, scoring across each other in a muted shriek of cheap stainless steel and old silver. The muscles in his belly tightened as he tried and failed to will his erection away, not sure if he should be pleased or otherwise when it appeared that the kid was having the _exact_ same problem. _This was fucking stupid. _

But the silence still stretched.

It was Glenn that finally broke it, his voice piping up from somewhere around the left side of his ribcage. It was either that or mid navel. _He wasn't exactly sure which. _Sounding suitably muffled through what was at least two sets of clothing and a backpack to boot.

"Ermmm..Daryl?"

"What kid?" He growled, not even raising his head when the kid shifted again. Not particularly interested in moving anytime soon himself as his back twinged in restless agreement.

"I think my leg fell asleep." The younger man responded, his tone edging so close to plaintive that he couldn't help let out a splintered, half muffled peel of laughter into the man's shirt collar. The warmth only spreading as he felt a smile spread across the kids lips, stretching out along his skin like fabric pulling tight in a breeze.

He was still biting back a snort of laughter as he rolled to his feet, finding that after everything else that had happened in the last couple of days, he just couldn't help himself. It was just too reldicious. He couldn't seem to sum it up any other way. The _kid _was reldicious. Hell, even _he_ was reldicious.

He was about to give the kid a hand to his feet when he realized that his left hand was painted red, soaked up to the wrist in a heady, leaking crimson. _What the shit! _His mind worked frantically, and despite the impossibility he whirled on his heel, unconsciously alert for walkers. Even as fingers of his other hand tried their best to wipe away the burbling liquid, clearing the blood away from the edges of the wound, almost desperate to get a closer look at it.

"You're bleeding!" Glenn exclaimed, looking just about as surprised as he felt. Voice pitching in surprise as the kid put his thoughts to words, his eyes going wide and troubled as he focused on the gash.

"Hold on. I have something for that." Glenn began, not even missing a beat as he struggled with the straps of his backpack, voice ripe with unneeded concern and he dug through his pack.

But he ignored the kid's yammering in favour of probing at the wound tentatively, watching as rivulets of crimson beaded up from the liquidly well of his palm. Watching the dome as it grew, growing and growing until it spilled over itself. Trickling out through his fingers until it started peppering the leaves and rocks below with barely oxygenated iron. _Shit._ It was a deep one. In all the rush and confusion he hadn't moved his hand away from the snapping bow string, letting it score a deep line across his thumb and cut into the meat of his palm.

He jerked away as the kid made to reach for it, gut practically roiling right then and there as a flash of fragmented memory rose up behind his eyes. There was something about the melding hues of ivory and fresh crimson that twisted his lips. _It was wrong. He didn't like it._

He closed his eyes and let loose a long, pent up breath, letting his elbow rest on his knee as he kept his hand aloft. His hand only throbbed in response, the skin going slick and tingly as the blood began to stream down his forearm. _Fucking ow._

But worse still was the fact that the kid seemed dead set on getting fussy over it. _Like he really needed a fucking nursemaid hovering over him on top of everything else! _In fact the kid was already making noise about antiseptic, Neosporin, and tensor bandages as he pulled away.

"Don't." He barely managed. Stumbling over his tongue as the word splintered across his lips. Unable to help himself as he took in the scent of the man in front of him, unable to describe the sweet, musky smell of stale sweat and crushed soil that had melded between them. Or the freshly broken sod that had been smeared clear across the both of them in their fall, painting the kid's stark, ivory skin with a varying hue of gentle browns and greys.

"Yeah, whatever _Conan_. I get it okay. I am sure you have had _worse_ cuts shaving." Glenn snarked sarcastically, ignoring him completely as he rifled through his pack. A half full package of cotton balls already firm in one hand even as he made another grab for his injured hand.

"I said leave it!" He snarled. Irritation rising to the forefront as his hand throbbed reproachfully, wrenching uncomfortably as he jerked it just out of the kid's reach. Figuring that would be the end of it. But not to be outdone, true to form, the kid gave as good as he got, getting right up in his face like he was about to start something, or at least cuss him out. The kids 'bitch face' looking more like a snarl then he had _ever _seen it. In fact he was almost proud. _Almost._

_In the end he turned out to be half right, with the kid apparently opting to go with volume rather then tact._

"Look! Would you just quit it and let someone help you for once!" The kid practically shouted, frustration obviously getting the better of him before he backed off. Taking a few deliberate breaths as he shook the anger off, putting a small modicum of space between them before continuing.

"Just, _look_… Let me do this for you, okay? ..Please?" The kid tried again. The man's voice going quiet and gentle as he adopted the same tone he himself had used more times then he could count in the past in order to soothe startled livestock. And it was just patronizing enough to make him actually listen.

He was reminded of the taste of the last inch of Bourbon in an old bottle of Wild Turkey as he looked at the younger man through the ratty fringe of his sweat slicked hair. Meeting the kids gaze straight on for the first time in a long time. But the look he got back sent all thoughts of Bourbon and empty bottles Gentlemen Jack right out his head. Because he had forgotten people could look like that, all warm…honest, and flushed red with far too many emotions to count. He had forgotten what those thingsactually looked like. _…Like desire… Like…affection…_

And for the first time in a long time his mind actually went blank.

So instead of digging himself any deeper, he just nodded, allowing the kid to get to work with barely a peep to the contrary, the silence suiting him just fine. In fact he was so distracted that the kid had the entire first aid kit open and his hand in cradled in his lap before he could even _think_ about changing his mind.

His barely held back a hiss at the unforgiving sting as the kid rubbed antiseptic into the wound. He grunted, unable to stop the small aborted movement as he fought to keep still, his shoulders hunching unconsciously as if attempting to make himself smaller might somehow stave off the sting.

_Jesus H. Christ that __**burned.**_

"Sorry.. Sorry." Glenn muttered, his face screwed up in concentration as he dabbed the area a bit more gently with the soaked cotton ball. His eyes careful and he doused the area liberally, apparently mindless of the steady drip as blood began to soak into the material of his filthy jeans. Doing nothing to stop the unsteady stream as the drops began to free fall from his finger tips, dappling across the kid's own hand in the process.

All else considered the kid wasn't half bad at this.

After a long moment, he bit back a startled yelp as the kid got a bit too adventurous with the swab, sitting up straight once again as he made to speak. "How did you even find me?" He grunted. Watching as the man began to slather on a thick layer of Neosporin, deciding that a change of subject would be as inconspicuous of an out as he could get at this point.

"You're lucky I did at all." The man responded, flashing him a small smile before looking back down at his work. Nimble fingers tucking in a few extra layers as he went.

"Rick said you headed north out of camp and I found a boot print and a few sets of deer tracks a few miles back. So I figured that if you went this way the deer would be where you'd be." The kid finished.

Inwardly he was as impressed as fuck, finding himself caught between trying to picture the kid actually tracking him down through the bush like that, and cursing his lack of attention. Outwardly he favoured the kid with an approving grunt before he actually clued in to the rest of what the kid had actually said.

"You mean there's more then just you out here?" He asked, eying the kid carefully as he searched for truth in the man's gaze, unable to mask his surprise when he found it there.

"What? Oh, of course there is. Rick went east, T-Dawg to the west, Shane to the south, and I took the north." The kid replied, apparently under some sort of delusion that it really was just _that_ damnsimple.

"You didn't really think we'd just leave you out here, did you?" Glenn pressed, changing the subject so suddenly that his mind looped in the middle of entertaining a series of somewhat horrific thoughts of the others actually trudging along through the forest with the deluded goal of somehow finding _one _man in the middle of over a thousand square miles of low grade mountain range and dense forest bush.

_God damned city folk. How the whole lot of them weren't dead by their own stupidity by now was entirely beyond him._

"Did you?" Glenn asked again. His fingers pausing in mid-swab like his answer was actually somewhat important. But there was nothing he could say to that, so he simply remained silent. Looking down at his half bandaged wound, and then further down until his eyes rested on the guilty, blood encrusted bow string. Taking in the ruddy, swirling patterns as the thick liquid dribbled down across the steel frame, coloring the triggering mechanism an ironic, but strangely appropriate ruby red.

But for some reason, that only served to irritate the kid even more. With his movements growing rigid and angry as he wrapped a tensor bandage around the bulky inner packing and fastened it with a safety pin. _For a grown man the kid certainly knew how to sulk._

"Left only gun back at camp? Stupid." He muttered darkly, breaking the heavy silence as visions of the old man and his stupid hat rose predominately in the back of his mind.

"Two." The kid shot back, rising to his feet and dusting himself off. "I wouldn't want to be on the wrong end of a gun with Andrea right now, would you?" He responded, still clearly irritated.

He blinked slowly at that. _…Well, he certainly couldn't argue with that. That broad could be fucking scary sometimes. At least back in the days when she still had that fire in her…_

"What happened anyway?" Glenn piped up, clearly attempting to change the subject himself as he began packing up the kit, trying his best to stuff it back into the already bulging knapsack as he leaned against a rocky outcropping for balance.

"You were supposed to be back nearly two days ago." The kid finished, finally letting a hint of censure creep into his tone, his words leaning towards being almost accusatory, as if he somehow knew exactly _why _he'd left in the first place.

"Couldn't come back to camp empty handed, now could I?" He shot back, motioning off towards the dark lump still lying in the clearing above them. Surprised in spite of himself when he realized that the small smile that had inexplicably accompanied his words, had come to his lips so god damn easily.

The kid's grin was blinding.

**A/N #1:** Please let me know what you think? Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! (I like to respond to all my reviews so if you reviewed anonymously or I somehow missed you, I love you all, just saying.)

**A/N #2:** Sorry for the spastastic nature of the chapters lately. Masters degrees are hard work. True freakin' story Batman. (At least I got this one up super quick! Woo!)

"_Hunting is not a sport. In a sport, both sides should know they're in the game."__  
- __Paul Rodriguez_


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters. I would be shitting bricks if I did though. Just sayin'.

**Warnings:** See original chapter for a complete list of warnings. This particular chapter will contain significant adult language, violence, and mild slash.

**Authors****Note****#1:** Please read and review. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism. The encouragement and constructive criticism your reviews provide makes the writing process that much more enjoyable!

**Authors****Note****#2:** Because **Shattered****Mirror01** demanded musical Daryl and I needed a catalyst. (I am not sure if she/he is still reading, but…Like a boss!)

**Rotation**** – **_**Chapter**____**15**_

He was returning his oiling kit to the back of his truck when he found it. It was dirt encrusted and shoved under one of the tarps as far from view as possible, as if someone had gone to great lengths to keep it hidden. Curious and slightly wary, he cast a careful look back at the others before he ripped off the tarp. Swinging himself up into the back, he climbed over top a sea of bags, his old fire engine tool box and one of Carol's spare suitcases in order to get a better look at it.

Sitting up on the metal edging, he paused, hands hovering just above its weather beaten sides. Eyes taking in the deep scores and fresh scuff marks from where the case had gotten caught between the wheel well and the groove of the truck bed. Even the iconic cattle skull stamp looked far more faded then he remembered. In a word it seemed different somehow. _Aged.__..Neglected._

It was the same guitar case that had been in the back of the truck he and Glenn had liberated during that cluster fuck of a supply run at that farmhouse nearly two months back. Admittedly still thrown for a loop he twisted the handle and pulled the entire thing upwards, resting the case on top of all the other crap as he looked it over. After a long moment he couldn't help but raise a brow as he looked back towards the others. Already half convinced that he'd find one of them grinning back at him. As if this was some sort of elaborate, inner city joke that urban retards regularly played on backwater hicks or somemat'.

Because while the discovery in itself might not be outwardly startling or even particularly interesting, the point of the matter was that he certainly didn't remember putting it there. In fact he remembered the moment he had pushed it aside, throwing the case off the edge of the crowded flat deck along with all the other suitcases and backpacks the women seemed to have accumulated. Trying his best to ignore the damning ache that resulted as callous blunted finger tips remembered the play of bare strings humming across naked skin. Forcing himself to continue unloading in case the girls had collected any more supplies they could use.

_He hadn't let himself dwell on it much after that._

The point was that he hadn't seen hide or tail of the thing since then. Figuring it had gone into the same junk pile they had abandoned when they left, leaving it to moulder and eventually rot along side everything else they couldn't use. And yet, here it was. Bold as bloody brass.

That being said, he already had a fair idea who _**had**_.

What was it about that kid and reading minds anyway? God knows he hadn't played in over ten years as it was._._He looked back down again, letting his eyes sweep along the case from end to end, taking in the tarnished silver snaps and back hinges as his teeth tightened around his lower lip. Unable to help himself when he bit down just a mite too hard.

_Oh what the hell. Couldn't hurt nothin' if he just took a look now could it?_

He suppressed an admiring whistle when he finally peeked inside. It was a gorgeous Gibson Les Paul acoustic, still safely nestled its blue velvet interior. It was flawless, clearly worn down with love and age but obviously well cared for. It wasn't his brand, but it was still a pretty impressive make, arguably one of the best out there these days. He had friends that swore by it. Or he'd had friends that had, before all this

He ignored the collection of picks in favour of using his own two hands, letting himself get used to its feel as he lifted it up, letting the polycarbonate base rest cross the span of his thighs as he tested out the cords. He inspected the frets for any damage before playing a quick range, wincing a bit as the sultry twang fell flat somewhere along the length of the last three strings. And despite the grating sound, his frown lessened. The instrument was badly out of tune but like all Les Paul's its rich, wooden tenor was unmistakable.

_God. He had missed this._

There was something about the sound of a few good chords humming under his fingers that softened him up inside. He'd never quite been able to put his finger on it. It was more then calming, more then comfortable.. Perhaps it all came down to the fact that it seemed to put him at ease. God knows precious little ever could.

The echoing snap of thick fabric cracking through the air effectively brought him back to reality. And as he followed the movement, he was rewarded with the sight of Lori hanging up her broods washing. He eventually decided that there must have been another bout of midnight domestics, because the woman looked fit to be tied. Something that wasn't exactly unusual these days mind you_._Especially considering the ever mounting soap opera-type romance she and Shane had shared before Captain America had seen fit to grace them all with his presence.

_Oh to be a fly on the wall for that conversation…_

He took in her tantrum with a critical eye, watching as the tall womanshook out each shirt before she hung them on the line. Whipping them about like each and every one of them had done her some sort of personal injustice. Working until she had exhausted her laundry basket and filled up their entire clothes line and part of Carol's to boot.

He snorted emphatically at that, fiddling with the peg heads, raising an eyebrow as he looked up at the sky. It looked like rain.. _That__was__going__to__go__over__well_. Already idly wondering just how far her eyes were going to bug out this time. _Women._He swore six ways to Sunday that none of them had _any_ common sense.

Shifting his body so his limbs draped more comfortably over the wheel well, he looked over at the others as he continued to strum. Gradually forcing the untuned chords into submission as he played a few scales, careful to keep the sound at a level that only he could hear.

The old man was still standing watch with T-Dog on top of the RV, keeping an eye on the road that led up to where they had decided to stop for the time being, a dumpy half forgotten state park fifty miles north of their last camp site. Despite the distance between the RV and his truck, their lips were alive with snatches of barely audible conversation. Apparently in deep discussion over the possibility of a supply run to the outskirts the small town they had seen not too far up the road. Clearly not noticing they had an audience as Shane frowned and shifted from his position at fire not far away, obviously eavesdropping as he spit shined his Mossberg.

_Amateur._

The little ones were playing just along the outskirts of the tin can fencing, under the watchful but unobtrusive eye of the girl's mother, Carol. The woman herself was looking it was somewhat better these days, something that was ironic given the circumstances, but not less true in kind. He liked to think it had something to do with finally being free of that bastard of a husband. The lack of bruises on her delicate skin seemed like a welcome change all else considered. He even saw her smile every now and again, her timid lips arching upwards as the smile eventually made it to her eyes. Coming out as genuine and unabashed, so much unlike the ones she used to give when Ed was still around.

_He figured that that in itself had to be worth something.._

And while he couldn't see Glenn right off, Rick and Andrea were working through the supply lists, making a tally of what they currently had and what they actually needed. He eyed the blond woman closely, there was a bit of color back in her cheeks, but her eyes said it all. She was still broken. _Drifting._But for now despite the contrary she was still here, and he supposed that had to mean something.

He watched as she gestured toward T-dogs van, making another brief addition to the list before turning the paper over and started on the back side. Rick nodded animatedly as he ticked a few things off on his fingers, clearly thinking of things off the top of his head as he went. It seemed like they really were serious about another supply run after all. He had decided to stay out of it completely a few days ago, after Lori and Andrea started throwing around words like: "feminine hygiene productions" and "tampons."

_Who knew that the end of the world could be so god damn complicated?_

It was the scuff of a shoe sole grinding against the loose gravel that finally alerted him, and when he raised his head he was hardly surprised to find that it was Glenn who was standing there. Momma would have called it gawping, but he was content to play it off, trying to ignore the amused twinkle and black lit smile that seemed to have taken up permanent residence across the kids face.

"I didn't know you played." The younger man commented, his words deceptively simple and unsurprisingly free of even the smallest smidge of guilt. The kid was good, he'd give him that. And as if to prove his point the kid shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. Leaning against the side of the truck all loose limbed and careless, the very picture of idle unconcern.

_Uhuh_. He wasn't buyin' what this kid was sellin'. Not one bit.

"Don't really." He finally responded, letting his fingers ghost across the strings, the movements almost deceptively careless. Deciding that for the time being any serious admonishments related to spying or sneaking up on people were just about moot between them.

"Sure sounds like it." The kid returned. Balancing himself effortlessly on one of the back tires as he hitched himself up. Wriggling and inching backwards until he was sitting directly opposite him. Back braced up against the window as his feet spread perpendicular over the luggage and supplies with a sloppy sort of ease that he hadn't been able to manage since he'd turned thirty.

He eyed the kid through the messy thatch of dark brown hair that had fallen over his eyes. But when it appeared that the kid was content to keep to the silence he turned his attention back to the instrument, still not entirely satisfied with the tightness of the peg heads.

It wasn't until he had played through the opening strains of "The Wanderer" by Johnny Cash a few dozen times, slowly feeling his way through the chords as he relied on fuzzy memories of paper music he'd only ever paid half attention to, that the kid shifted on the metal edging.

Ignoring the fidgeting he thrummed his way into a more complex melody. Strumming up some random mish-mash that came out sounding strikingly reminiscent of The Doors and anything Jimmy Hendrix had ever come out with. He didn't even wince when he hit a few off chords, far too intent on the ability to bring forth the music itself. It had been a long damn time since he had let himself play like this, freely and without censure. He'd almost forgotten what that kind of freedom rightly felt like.

The next time he looked up he caught the man in an unabashed stare, the kid's smile nearly a half a mile wide as relaxed fingers tapped out the rhythm in time with the chords even as the music itself stuttered to an ungraceful stop. He felt a flush steal across the coarseness of his neck, the embarrassing color barely hidden by a few days worth of uneven stubble.

_Fuck._

It was stupid crap like this that always seemed to do him in. And he felt ten times as dirty for even thinking it, but he just couldn't seem to get over the warm flip flop that rolled deep in his gut whenever the kid did shit like that. In a way he almost hated the kid for it. For making him feel this way…or for just making him _feel._ He wasn't sure which was which anymore.

And he swore to Christ that the kid was doing it on purpose these days…

"Did'cha just come over here to bug me, or what kid?" He finally barked, suddenly feeling remarkably cornered, pressured to put his thoughts into both word and action. He didn't like it, this feeling. It left him unable to shake the resounding feeling that the ball had just been thrown into _his_ court.

He blew the hair out of his eyes and ground his teeth in frustration, as if the movement alone could somehow instil action. Dixon's didn't do uncertainty. They skull fucked it into oblivion and rode it all the bloody way home! What the fuck was wrong with him?

But instead of getting huffy or even taking it personally, like he'd fully expected the kid to do, the younger man only smiled. His expression morphing into an insufferable and rather alarming mix of amusement, and that smug, rather self satisfied look that is entirely unique to someone who knows _a__lot_more then they are telling.

_Cocky little bastard._

Not expecting to get much of an answer after that, he turned his attention back to tuning the guitar. Refusing to let himself dwell on the matter anymore then he already had. Not entirely keen on letting himself think about what that damn kid was up to this time anyway.

So when the kid finally did reply it caught him entirely off guard.

"You know I'm not a kid right?" The younger man shot back, blurting out the words like he had been waiting to say them all this time. His determination clear as the kid held him fast in a stare that probably would have intimidated a lesser man. Apparently keen on making some sort of lasting point.

"Yeah I know kid, I know." He returned. His voice going habitually flippant even as his thoughts began spiralling outward. Spreading like water streaming down a window pane at the beginning of May, as the full conations of man's outburst truly began to sink in. _Well__shit._

And when the man finally wandered off, eyes searching and perhaps even somewhat disappointed. He found himself cursing his own damn stupidity when he realized that what had come out of his mouth only moments before hadn't been what he'd been _meaning_ to say at all..

**A/N****#1:** Please let me know what you think? Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! (I like to respond to all my reviews so if you reviewed anonymously or I somehow missed you, I love you all, just saying.)

**A/N****#2:** So glad people as still reading and reviewing. Think I can finish this story before the new season! YIKES. (Probably two more chapters after this one)

"_But when you get music and words together, that can be a very powerful thing." – Bryan Ferry_


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters. Though if they gave it to me I certainly wouldn't say no.

**Warnings:** See original chapter for a complete list of warnings. This particular chapter will contain significant adult language, violence, sexual situations, and unrestrained man kisses. (As well as perhaps a tiny, _tiny_ spoiler from the Season two teaser reel we got awhile back. In fact it is so small, and possibly not even accurate in the first place that the first person to notice it gets a Daryl and Glenn shaped cookie!)

**Authors**** Note****#1:** Please read and review. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism. The encouragement and constructive criticism your reviews provide makes the writing process that much more enjoyable!

**Rotation**** – **_**Chapter**__** 16**_

It wasn't until later that evening that the opportunity came again. He spent the time after Glenn had wandered off by mostly keeping to himself. Chopping far more fire wood then they could rightly use as he grudgingly worked himself through the entirety of the past three months.

_Dangerous__ stuff__ that,__ to__ have__ a__ Dixon __thinkin__'__._

It didn't take him long to work himself up into a good old fashioned sweat, taking out all his anger and frustration on the rough, South Georgian pine. And in doing so he swiftly came to the conclusion that the possibilities he was likely to face were both as _tremulous _and _tremendous_ as the ever threatening skyline. Momma Nature was right pissed about _something_ that was for damn sure. It was just a matter of time before she let them all know about it.

He was stretched out across the front seat of his truck, one arm tucked underneath his head as he paged through an old engine manual he had left over from his days at the Gas' n' Go' garage. Cursing viciously just under his breath as he picked his brain, thinking about ways to squeeze just a little bit more juice out of his empty fuel lines, unwilling to face the growing reality that his old girl might not make it past the next county.

And like the growing fester of an unresolved slight, the injustice of the matter burned him down to the core. He didn't give two shits about fairness or fate. He'd had his truck all his adult life. And she'd always seen fit to treat him right so long as he did the same. It had been a partnership that had taken him through the most iconic periods of his waking life. And he'd be damned if he'd just leave her behind, abandoned on some lonely highway shoulder to rust.

He threw the manual across the passenger seat, scrubbing his hands across his eyes as he glared out the bug smeared bug shield. _Son __of__ a__ bitch!_ He'd be lucky if he could get the old girl to even _start_ the next time they broke camp. Her fuel lines had been stalking empty for a good twenty miles before they'd stopped the last time.

"Any luck?" Glenn offered his voice amicable and open as it floated through the truck's open passenger window.

"Not unless you have a few dozen gallons of gasoline set aside somewhere." He replied carefully, holding back the breadth of his frustration as he eyed the flat lined gas gauge somewhat despairingly.

"Oh hey, that reminds me." The kid exclaimed clearly seizing the moment as his smile finally went back to touching his eyes as he grinned. All initial awkwardness apparently forgotten as the younger man clambered into the passenger seat and made himself comfortable.

"I actually have something for you. And while it isn't gas, it _could_ be considered a _sort_ of fuel." The kid chattered, finishing up his sentence as he rooted through the limp backpack he had taken to carrying around nearly everywhere these days. He had already chosen not to bring up the fact that he recognized it right off the bat, the Canadian flag being a bit of a dead give away. And while he didn't quite understand the reasoning behind the action, he realized it wasn't any of his god damn business anyway. If the kid wanted to dwell, moping around with the memories of lives that he certainly couldn't change then who was he to judge?

However, that line of thought was promptly blown out of the water when the kid finally unveiled his prize. His mind trailed off into a series of incredulous exclamations, with expletives slowly over taking the majority of the unspoken words as he wondered just how hard it had been to keep such unabashed treasures from discovery. Especially with curious little ones around…

"Where the hell did you find these?" He asked, blatant surprise evident in his voice as his eyebrows arched in disbelief. Eyes stuck on the bright, cheerfully coloured Coca Cola logo that stood out almost reldiciously stark when put into contrast with the kid's bruised, dirt streaked hand.

"Been saving them for a special occasion." The younger man replied, offering one of the precious little can's towards him as he pulled out a can for himself. A small smile twitching across the length of the man's red bitten lips as he gazed at him expectantly. He wasn't even sure how to react at first, struck dumb by the pure enormity of the gesture. Taking the beverage on pure impulse alone as he stared, looking down at that luke warm can like he had never seen the like of one before.

He realized that to anyone else it might not seem like much. Especially if this whole moment had occurred _before_ the whole world had gone to shit. But since it had, and he hadn't even had a sniff of the stuff in over three months the mere existence of the stupid things was almost more then he could fully comprehend. It was the principal of the thing really. It was something from before. Something they had _all_ had from before.

_Strange__ how __it__ is__ always__ the __little __things__you__ end__ up__ taking__ for __granted._

"What's it for." He questioned, eying the kid with open suspicion as he held the can loosely by its rim. His grip almost painstaking careful as he adjusted his hold, acting as though the drink might be partly combustible as his thumb and forefinger brushed along the rim. Unsure of where the kid was actually going with this.

"Do I need a reason?" The kid replied, the words themselves so quick and seamless that they screamed of being rehearsed.

"Some people would." He countered. Brain finally making a rebound as his tone took on a decidedly unapologetic edge.

"Some people would." Glenn returned, nodding once as he paused. Shifting in place and clearly collecting his thoughts as he moved into a more comfortable sprawl across the passenger seat bench. His sneaker clad feet stretching down across the crusty old mud mat before he turned back and met his gaze. "But I wouldn't."

_The kid probably had a point there._

"Cheers." The younger man offered, cracking his can open with a single, well accustomed flick of his wrist, holding his drink aloft in a careless salute before taking a healthy sip, acting as if the matter was all but settled. And perhaps it was after all, because he found that he couldn't help but do the same.

He nearly choked the moment the liquid hit his tongue. The peppery fluid spreading over his taste buds with a mercilessness that was akin an electric shock. _Christ,__ he__'__d__ almost__ forgotten!__ How__ could__ he __have__ forgotten__ something__ like__ that? _It was shit like this that made him realize just what this whole mess was actually taking from them. It was changing who they were and what they were, moulding them into something different. Setting them back...or maybe it was even forward. He sure as hell couldn't tell anymore.

Unconsciously mimicking the other man, he held the liquid on his tongue, swishing it around his mouth like a wine taster with a temperamental palate. He twirled the can around and around in his grip, enjoying the lingering coolness as his eyes took in the brightly lit colors and the small meaningless words that made up the nutritional guide on the can's rear end, reading through the multi syllable list more then once purely for the hell of it. And grinning softly at himself as he recognized his foolishness.

This time when he made to look back, he was unsurprised to see the younger man staring right back. And for a moment they shared that silence. Slurping up the gassy sugar and catching the escaping drops with their tongues like it was the best thing they had ever tasted._ ..It was something to remember this moment. Something to cherish and keep close for the times that spiralled out ahead of them both. For the times when there was nothing left but the blood and the pain, and the barren desolation of true loniless..._

His palm curled tight around the perspiration beaded tin, his large, callous hardened hand all but dwarfing the can as he held it close. He gave himself another long moment before he took another sip. Feeling the bubbles rise, carbonating and fizzing against his teeth as his fingers suddenly wobbled. The muscles in his cheeks pulling tight and his good mood flat lining as the kid began to run off at the mouth again.

"Besides, you've saved my life more times then I can count since I have met you. So I figured that that deserves a little something." Glenn continued with a grin, flicking off each instance on his fingers as he spoke. The action caused the little hairs on the back of his neck to rise as frustration came rushing back. _Did__ the__ kid__ really __think__ he__ was__** that**__ god__ damn__ selfless?__ That__ was__ a__ lie.__ No__ one__ was.__ Not __back __then__ and__ certainly __not__ now._

"I've saved your ass twice kid. Don't go making it anymore more then what it already is." He grunted, wiping inexplicably sweaty hands across his dirty jeans. And trying his best to ignore the clammy sweat that had prickled to life across his skin.. _He_ _didn__'__t__ want__ to__ go__ there.__ Not__ now,__ and__ probably__ not__ ever._

His third sip was far more sedate, the motion itself coming across as calm and remarkably measured. But it was all forced. _A__ fake.__ A __lie_. Because this time he took a choking slug from the can just like he'd did back in the days where he could nurse a twelve pack of Molson and a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue through an entire weekend. Relishing the acidic, carbonated burn like it was a lungful of nicotine. Holding his breath around that sweet smoke until the exhale turned explosive, and his lungs busted outwards, the exhale sudden and stark, like the promise of violence.

"Whatever man, I was there. Not like you can talk you way out of something like that. I saw you when you-." The kid began, getting cut off short as his mind screamed foul, speaking over the kid as he made to continue.

"Shut it kid." He growled, his voice turning as harsh as the liquid that was now burning past down the length of his throat like an ulcer. The kid went from zero to bitch face in ten seconds flat.

"I thought we'd covered this already. I am not a kid!" Glenn threw back. Frown lines deepening across the span of the man's face as his body closed off. Anger turning the younger man into a sharp edged tangle of infuriated angles and diamond lined steel. _..He didn't like it. But for the life of him he couldn't stop himself from making it worse... He was just **that **much of an asshole.._

"Fine then.." He retorted, pausing for effect before continuing. "Shut up…_Glenn_." He sassed. Laying the sarcasm on so thick he nearly choked as the words flew off his tongue. The glower he got back in return was withering. _Damn...If__ looks__ could __kill__…_

And true to form he glared right back, gracing the kid with a glacial scowl that would have made Merle himself proud. But the problem was that they both seemed stuck in that moment. Unable to shake the growingly troublesome feeling that they were both acting like a bunch of fucking preschoolers, caught fast between action and inaction, with both of them unsure as how to break it. What they needed was a catalyst. Something to break them out of this fucked up holding pattern they had somehow gotten trapped in. Something to flip the odds, change the percentages and wipe the whole slate clean.

He wanted a chance to say all the things he'd been meaning to. Come hell or high water, regardless of what it would probably cost him…_He__ just__ couldn__'__t__ take__ this__ anymore!__ He__ had__ to-__…_

And as if on cue, like the Gods themselves were somehow listening, a _catalyst_ they _got_. Ironically it was arguably the oldest trick in the book, except _this__ time_ it was entirely accidental. In fact, if it had happened any other time he probably would have been caught between running off to buy a lottery ticket, and seriously entertaining the idea of ducking for cover when fate finally realized her err.

Because it was right around then that Mother Nature finally lived up to the promise she had been threatening all day. Startling the shit out of the lot of them, when with a thunderous crack, the heavens split wide open. He hadn't been paying attention, too distracted by the kid and his own stupid problems to realize that the sky above them had whipped itself into knots, the clouds turning dark and mean as they chased each other across the sky. Catching the high flying birds in spiraling eddies, as they too made for shelter.

_Shit! The truck bed! _

He hurled himself out of the cab, Glenn hot on his heels as they chased after the fluttering tarp, struggling against the growing wind and rain as they fastened it down, covering the supplies in the back as they attached the ropes and tie downs underneath of the body of the truck. Fingers growing dark with automotive rust and muck as the pelting rain frothed up the ground below, splattering mud across both pant legs and arms as they yelled instructions through the deafening rumble.

All around them the others zipped around camp doing the exact same, rescuing clothing off the lines, covering the fire wood and exposed supplies as best they could before hightailing it back to the safety of the RV or their respective tents. Slipping and sliding on the wet grass and churning mud as the rain pelted down, showing no sign of doing anything else but increasing in ferocity.

_Shit.__ They__ were __in__ for __it__ alright.__ This__ wasn__'__t__ just __any __old __mid-summer__ storm..__ This__ one __meant__ business._

By the time they finished covering up the supplies they were soaked through. There was no two ways to get around it. _They__ were__ fucking __wet._ Their clothes all the way through to their johns clung to their sodden skin. The fabric plastered across the full length of them, turning his loose, sleeveless shirt into a paper thin, spandex like-fit, that sunk into every curve, molding into him like a second skin. And the kid wasn't much better, spitting out mouthfuls of water as they ran back to the truck. Their sodden hair plastered across their scalps, and blurring their vision as they fumbled with the door handles, slamming their doors closed in near unison, panting and cursing as their wet clothing squished and dripped. Sinking into the upholstery and down across the floor mats as they collapsed across the front seat.

_Christ__ it__ was __nasty__ out__ there.._

After a long moment spent mostly sprawled out, head propped up against the steering wheel, he simply stared out at the downpour, watching the rain as it beat against the windshield in an unrestrained tantrum of wind, rain, and what looked suspiciously similar to small pieces of hail. He took a series of deep breathes, concentrating on getting his breath back as the man beside him did the same, combing his fingers through his messy black hair as the kid abandoned his baseball cap completely, tossing it on the floor on top of the backpack at his feet.

He shook his head roughly, twisting a finger in his ear in an attempt to rid himself of the irritating _sloosh-sloosh_ that was indicative an ear full of water. He _hated_ being wet. He hated the feeling of wet clothes pressing against his skin; he hated everything about it right down to the disgustingly slick sound the fabric made when it was forced to bend. He twisted awkwardly, face screwed up in oblivious displeasure as his shirt sucked tight against his skin. Like a handful of pea pods stuck in a pressure cooker.

'_Fuck__it..__' _He finally decided. Pulling himself up as he reached for the edges of the hem, seeing no sense in being both wet _and_ miserable while they waited out the storm. As he certainly had no great, pressing desire to make a run for his tent anytime soon. Not in this weather at any rate. _Dry__ clothing__ be__ damned._

…The weight of the kid's stare was almost tangible. And he held back a shiver when he felt the man's eyes stutter. He blinked. Half tempted to wave a hand in front of the kids face for a reaction. For _any _reaction…

But still he grunted in discomfort. Exhaling softly as he struggled to rid himself of the rain soaked fabric, eventually shucking it off with both hands as he lost patience entirely. All too eager to be rid of the unpleasant sensation as his fingers inadvertently raked across the length of his sides, slipping from the hem to score viciously across his rain slicked skin. He hissed at the sudden burn. The inadvertent action leaving long, wavering red furrows across his skin. The half crescents blossoming outwards with a sensual, reddish hewn glow that slowly faded back into the encompassing flush that was rapidly stealing across the length of him.

_And__ that__ was__ the__ exact__ same__ moment__ when __the __kid__'__s __eyes __went __hooded._

"What? He finally exploded. "I got somethin' on my face or what?" He barked. Unable to bear the tension any longer as he turned and met the man's gaze, reacting instinctively and with growing discomposure when the kid refused to look away.

But Glenn only shifted in his seat, mouth opening and closing as if struggling to find the right words before apparently giving up completely. Shuffling his limbs almost restlessly against the passenger door as his fingers played against the surface of the small, rain slicked handle. Almost as if the kid was considering escape even as the tiny sliver of a tongue ran boldly across the length of his lower lip. Lingering in a way that just _**had**_ to be deliberate.

He eased back almost imperceptibly in his seat, trying to hide the growingly problematic bulge that seemed bound and determined to-… _Wait__… __Wait__ just __one __god__ damned__ minute__… __The__ kid__ was__ turned__ on!_

_Oh__ he__ was__ on__to __the __little__ asshole __now__…_

He'd sensed it before of course. He wasn't stupid. But to finally see the affirmation… To actually _know_ that the kid wanted _him_ just as much as he did, no ifs ands or buts about it, was a mighty powerful thing. He supposed that it all came down to the fact that seeing and knowing were two very different things.

_Well shit._

Forcing himself to focus, he sucked in a shaky breath. He could practically taste the tension. The air was thick with it. Anticipation, uncertainty, excitement, and that particular brand of unbridled need that refused to do anything else but grow. Spreading like tendrils of uncertain warmth, and rising up from that place in his chest he sometimes forgot he actually had. _And__ he__ just __couldn__'__t_..… _Not__ anymore.._

But in the end that was all it took. Because even as it felt as though his chest was somehow imploding, unable to take the pressure and tension even one second longer. He had already launched himself across the distance. Hooking the kid around the neck and crashing his lips against his in a sweet, aggressive tangle of spit slicked lips and eager skin…

**A/N****#1:** _*fidgets*__-__*Is__ nervous__ for__ this__ chapter*_ Please let me know what you think? Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! (I like to respond to all my reviews so if you reviewed anonymously or I somehow missed you, I love you all, just saying.)

**A/N****#2:** Okay so I lied. TWO more chapters and I plan on wrapping this story up! This chapter was getting epically long and I needed to break it of somewhere. Ahem…so yeah..I will just leave this here then…

"_A__ hidden__ connection__ is__ stronger__ than __an __**obvious **__one.__" __-__Heraclitus __of__ Ephesus_


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters. However I will take Glenn and Daryl on time share, for the goodness of humanity. Though I cannot guarantee they will be returned in their original shiny packaging when I give them back.

**Warnings:** See the original chapter for a complete list of warnings. This particular chapter will contain significant adult language, and slash. _A __LOT__ OF__ SLASH_. Including man groping, man nakedness, man kisses, and other related man on man sexy bits. Did I mention there was going to be slash in this chapter? Because, yep. There is. A LOT of it.

**Authors**** Note****#1:** Please read and review. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism. The encouragement and constructive criticism your reviews provide makes the writing process that much more enjoyable!

**Rotation**** – **_**Chapter**__** 17**_

He had never kissed another guy before. Sure he'd had his flings, and sure he'd enjoyed the hell out of them. But he'd never let himself kiss them. _Not__ once._ To him, a kiss had always felt more like an investment then anything else. It was more then something that was simply _given._ Rather it was something that was _felt _instead.

Unlike with sex, he had always thought of a kiss as akin to giving away a part of yourself. Because it was giving away something that lay inside, something that went deeper then flesh, deeper then something that was simply visceral or spoken. It meant that it was a risk. _An__ act__ of t__rust._

_And in that way, it was something that was almost impossible to take back._

He had only cared about two people that way, and his love had been reserved to that number. He supposed that what he was struggling with was that to him, a kiss meant _more_ just some quick, easy fuck. So perhaps that's why he was still warring with shock and disbelief when he realized that he hadn't even thought_ twice_ about it when he'd pulled the kid in. In a way, he supposed that it made everything else that had happened in the past few months actually make sense. He'd never considered the kid to be a quick fuck.. Not for one god damned minute. But _hell_…He hadn't realized…

As expected, kissing a man was expressly different from kissing a woman. A woman was all soft curves and plush lips. Where there was always the lingering sensation of high breasts pillowing against his chest and long, fragrant curls that flowed every which way, getting caught in the dips and hollows as his thumbs traced their supple curves and strong hips. Women left butterfly kisses on his chest and half crescent nail marks painted across his skin, filling his ears with flighty sighs and high pitched moans of pleasure that never failed to make his ears roar.

Kissing Glenn was a total juxtaposition. It was like flipping the world on its head and spinning it three hundred and sixty degrees past insanity. First off the kid was all hands, feet, and long colt-like limbs. _It__ was__ like__ making__ out__ with__ a__ fucking__ octopus._ The kid just couldn't seem to keep still_._ Reaching, wiggling, and squirming into him like he was trying to climb right _into_ his skin. He decided to take it as a compliment.

Second was that save for his chin, the kid was a mess of rough angles. An undeniable muddle of awkward fits, jamming knees, and large hands that yanked just a bit too hard as they carded through his rain soaked hair. The differences were abrupt, especially when it came down to the pure logistics of the matter. Because the man's lips were full, but thin and there was always the threat of stubble that stood in the place of enduring softness. The grating burn unmistakable as it kindled across the edge of an unsuspecting cheek, or slipped across the venerable length of one's throat with the consistency of a match being set alight.

And third was that _actually _kissing the man was an experience unique to itself. He had never kissed someone like this, where everything came out so passionate, so honest, and so unashamedly _desperate_ that the sheer intensity of it almost sent him over the edge right then and there.

But in that moment he decided that it was the best kiss he had ever had. And as if to prove his point he corralled the kid back into the seat corner, one strong hand curving around the kid's face as he brought their lips back for another. Gratified for reasons entirely beyond his understanding, when despite letting out a small squeak of surprise, the younger man didn't resist the manhandling. In fact, he seemed dead set on _encouraging_ it.

_The__ kid__ was__ going __to__ be__ the __end __of__ him...__ He__ just__ knew __it.__ He__ already__ felt__ like__ he __was __about__ to __have__ a__ god__ damn __heart __attack._

The Korean was practically squirming in his seat now. Obviously trying to keep as low key as possible, still overly conscious of the others resting in the RV and the tents ringed around them. But anyone looking could tell. It all came down to the way that the younger man's eyes had hooded over with lust. His hairline damp with sweat and rain as he panted for air, cheeks flushed an alluring pink as he ducked lower into the seat.

"Fuck." The kid muttered, the slur inexplicably exciting him all the more as the man slammed his head back against the head rest.

_He nearly choked on his own god damned spit._

His hands felt rough and abrasive as they coasted across the younger man's skin, making the contrast between his calloused palms and the impossible smoothness of the man's neck feel all but provincial. The passionate shiver he got in return only emboldened him further. And unhindered, he curled his wide palm around the nape of the man's neck, fingers grazing along the very edges of the kid's hairline. Getting distracted in spite of himself by the glossy feel of those thick, black strands. Slipping like butter right through his finger tips.

_God,__ just__ laying __a__ hand __on __the__ man __had __put __him__ in__ such__ a__ state__ already!_

There was water streaming down from his hairline, welling up in the dips of his shoulder blades before trickling down the hard planes of his chest, chasing each other in trickling rivulets as they slowly melded together. And through those streams the kid began to finger the scars that decorated his skin. Every time those fingers paused, hovering just over top of a particularly nasty looking scar, the air would thicken with a question. But the kid never asked, and he certainly didn't offer.

He wouldn't have blamed him if he had though; he knew what his skin looked like. He was a varying canvas of glancing dents, ragged cuts, gashes that had scarred over completely, and angry looking ones that had never fully healed. They were all trophies of a life that had been lived hard. Like the time when he'd been nicked by a busted beer bottle in that ass backwards bar just south of Gwinnett County, backing up one of his buddies in a bar brawl gone wrong. He had downed a two six of vodka straight up as the bartender had stitched him up right then and there on an overturned, blood smeared bar table. Watching with no small bit of delight as the local Sheriffs dragged out the four assholes that had been stupid enough to start shit in the first place. Or the day where he'd earned the thick, ropy slice that jutted across the length of his right thigh. The consequences of dicking around instead of paying attention during the harvest season of his fourteenth year. He'd been lucky there, the blades of the thresher had only glanced off him, anything more and he would have lost the leg completely.

…But in the end where and how he had gotten them didn't matter, because as the man traced over each and every one, he left a mark on him that was more permanent then even his deepest scar…

_Christ…It had been a long time since he had felt a man's hands on his skin. _

The fiction of the man's jeans rubbing against the crotch of his pants seemed almost unbearably electric, and he had to bite back a groan as the kid bucked into him. _For __fucks__ sake__…__If__ the __kid__ kept__ this__ up__…_

"You've done this before, right kid?" He grated tersely, pinning the younger man with a pointed look even as he yanked him clear across the bench. Feeling like he needed to say it aloud despite the fact that he already had the kid's pants halfway down his thighs, his hand's dangerously close to the end zone as his fingers curled around the waist band of the man's boxer briefs.

"Dude, are you serious? Don't call me **kid** _right__ now_, that's just creepy!" The kid squawked. Voice indignant but muffled when he chose that moment to reach over and yank off the kid's shirt, sending the man's hair into a mess of static charged tufts that really had no business being as reldiciously attractive as they actually were.

He couldn't help but laugh at the sight, his chuckles slowly turning into a sound that came out undeniably rich and genuine. Growing and expanding in on itself until it felt like he was laughing with his whole body, rather then simply making a half assed sound in the base of his throat. He buried his head into the man's neck as warmth spread along with it.

He had forgotten this, the closeness, might have even missed it if he was being honest. But still, _this.. _this was different. He hadn't realized it could be like this. Not for him…It was different from everything else he had ever experienced in a way he couldn't even _begin_ to quantify or even describe. _He __just__ knew._

He pulled the kid back down across the length of the seat. Leaning into him and ghosting a long breath across the smooth expanse of his navel, hushing across the skin with the barest hint of his chapped lips as he finally put his mouth to good use.

_Because_ _after__ all,__ there __were __some __definite__ pluses__ to__ being__ a__ Dixon..__ Not__ that__ they__ ever__ kissed __and__ told__ mind__ you__…_

It was gratifying to able to sense the exact moment when the kid stopped breathing. And he chuffed an amused breath into the man's skin, grinning into the hitch where ribs met hip, as the man panted for air above him. He grinned knowingly as the man's hands fell across the breadth of his shoulders, pushing and pulling in kind when his tongue dipped into the kid's navel, laving at the skin he found there as he listened to the kid start to _lose_ it somewhere just above his bobbing head.

"Oh _fuck_. Shit.. _Daryl_..." The kid breathed.

He let loose a startled grunt when the kid's nails sunk into his skin. Hissing through his teeth as he bit down on the kid's neck on pure impulse, slamming him back against the seat in retaliation, not at all missing the heated looked the action got him.

_So, __he __liked__ it__** that**__ way __did __he?__ He__ could __work__ with __that._

Arching up, he raked his fingers through the man's thick, black hair, nipping a path down the man's neck, his hands still fisted around the man's arms, limbs lost and tangled together as they sunk further into the crease of the worn seat cushions. Everything else pretty much devolved from that point on, turning sloppy, wet, frantic, and sweet until he could hardly tell his limbs from Glenn's, or even figure out which way was up as his lips found home against the man's sweat slicked skin.

_It was fucking fantastic. _

And when the kid took him in hand, it was almost too much. Because the moment those spit slicked hands wrapped around his length, his mind splintered. The sensation stripping him straight down to the naked core, leaving him helpless and gasping for air as his lungs strained to keep up with his heart rate. Leaving him with nothing but the single, rather intriguing thought that caused him to wonder just when the low _light_ straining in through the rain speckled windshield had suddenly gotten so _loud__…_

But even then, he didn't even have a moment to consider the pure absurdity of the thought itself, because it was just then the kid's head dipped low. His generous lips glinting in the near light, the edges curving up into a mischievous smile the moment before his mind sparked off into static…

**A/N****#1:** Please let me know what you think? Reviews and constructive critiquing are love!

**A/N****#2:** One more chapter and this story is done! Also: The little teaser I mentioned in the authors notes last chapter was actually in reference to the fact that in the season 2 teaser you **don****'****t** actually see Daryl's truck, only him riding on Merle's bike. So I got inspired to add truck problems in the past chapter as a sort of lead in to season two. (*munches on her Glenn and Daryl shaped cookie all by her lonesome*)

"_Be__ who__ you__ are__ and __say__ what__ you__ feel__ because__ those__ who__ mind__ don't__ matter __and__ those__ who__ matter__ don't__ mind.__" __-__Dr.__ Seuss_


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer:** I _still _don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters. Drat!

**Warnings:** See original chapter for a complete list of warnings. This particular chapter will contain significant adult language, adult situations, and slash.

**Authors**** Note****#1:** Please read and review. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism. The encouragement and constructive criticism your reviews provide makes the writing process that much more enjoyable!

**Rotation**** – **_**Chapter**__** 18**_

He woke up sometime during the night feeling halfway between smothered to death and being far too comfortable to even _think_ about moving. Stretching minutely, he blinked into the darkness. Peering out the blurred windshield with well earned tiredness, he took in their surroundings. The wind had lessened, but the rain still showed no sign of letting up any time soon. In fact he could barely make out the lonely figure of Shane standing watch on top the RV, looking curled up and miserable under the small umbrella Dale had commandeered for lengthy watches spend under the searing Georgina sun.

Far in the distance, lighting and thunder still rolled. But even then it was obvious that it had mostly blown itself out, with the echoes barely touching his keen ears as the storm slowly thrummed out its death throws. He squinted through the darkness, ego still soaring about a mile past the stratosphere as a tell-a-tale throb rose back to prominence in his groin. In fact, his mood was so affable that he remained surprisingly unfazed when he realized that Shane had paused in mid-pace on top the Winnebago, and was now looking directly at them from clear across camp.

'_Hope__ you __enjoyed __the__ show__ asshole.__'_ He thought with a distinctly satisfied grin. Idly entertaining the idea of seeing how much it would take to make the unpredictable man's head explode. _God knows it would certainly do them all a bloody favor if he did. _

It was only when he'd done a careful circuit around camp that he allowed himself to relax. And as he did he found himself completely unable to contain an admiring snort as he looked down at the both of them. _They__ hadn__'__t__ even__ made__ it__ to__ a__ god__ damn __tent._ In fact they were still scrunched up across the length of the folded down seat, crushed together in such a mish-mash of limbs that they would have given even a jig-saw puzzle a run for its money. With the kid curled around him like some sort of particularly affectionate limpet, his back already screamin' bloody murder.

_Christ.._.He felt fucking ridiculous..

It made him feel as though he had somehow digressed in age, going back to things like uncoordinated make out sessions spent on the living room couch. With Mamma puttering around in the kitchen only a few meters away as he stole a kiss or three when he was sure she wasn't spyin'. Or sneaking out at midnight to push the car down the drive, nervous and half terrified at the thought of getting caught as he drove down the road to pick up his high school sweetheart. All moment's indicative of his more rambunctious teenage years…

However in the end, admittedly somewhat predictably, his libido won out. Instead he contented himself with searching out the source of a scent that seemed to have enveloped the both of them. It reminded him of humidity. Of the scent the ground gives off, caught in a wind gust just after a hard summer's rain. It remained somehow reminiscent of the sudden sharpness of a clean, wholesome smelling sweat. It was unique, yet relatable. Almost comforting in it's gentle obscurity.

His bare feet poked out from the mess of rumpled shirts and shucked blue jeans. And idly he brushed his toes across the nylon cushioning of the passenger side door, reveling in the unique _'__skritch-skritch__'_ sound the movement produced. He ran a hand through his mussed up hair, catching the shadow of his reflection in the rear view mirror as a distant flash lit up the cab like it was center stage. _And__ he__'__d__ be__ damned __if__ he __didn__'__t__ look__ completely__ fucked__ out.._

Careful not to wake him, he pulled the kid closer, relishing in the slow burn as the muscles in his right arm tightened, and then released in kind. Fingers softly tangling in the stark black mop the kid had the nerve to call hair. He sucked in a slow, easy breath as he let his mind cipher off into oblivion. Not even thinking twice as appreciative eyes roved down the length of the man's form, far too content to ruin the sanctity of the moment for something as simple as a twisted up back.

_..He'd msised this, the silence of the moment after. God help him, but he had. He'd missed the times where he could just lay still and think of nothing else save for what was right in front of him..._

Merle had always told him that his biggest problem was that he _thought_ too damn much. And despite Merle's admittedly tarnished track record, he reckoned that the man was at least half right. Because his mind was always going, always humming, buzzin' along like some god damned bee hive. He never allowed himself to simply _have_ that moment. To let it sink in all right and proper, and to appreciate it for what it was. But this time it was all different. Because despite the fact that he knew he should be thinking about any number of a million other things, mostly regarding the upcoming supply raid and the possibly of finding gas for his old girl before her tanks went completely dry, his mind refused to entertain the lot of them. Leaving him with nothing save for the sensation of the kid sinking deep underneath his skin.

_It was a thought that stood out as remarkably appropriate, especially given their current circumstances…_

And almost as if the younger man sensed his troublesome thoughts, he shifted beside him. Turning inward and completely hogging the layer of shucked clothes as the younger man inched more snugly along the length of his side. Crowding impossibly closer, until their naked skin meshed together all the way down from armpit to baby toe. He could help but grin at that, finding his nose now pressed securely across the hollow that marked the arch of the kid's neck. It was a vantage point that gave him a front row seat to the way the man's sable black hair trickled down along the base of his neck. As well as an excellent view of a rather impressive looking set of teeth marks he had unashamedly bitten into the kid's nape the night before to boot.

_..The__ kid__ was__ gonna__' __give __him__ hell__ for __that __come__ morning__…__ But__ for __the__ moment__ he__ decided__ he __was__ going __to__ enjoy __it__…__ Hell,__ he__ even __reckoned __that it it looked **good** on him..._

Instead, he decided to breathe it in, lids shuddering like he was still riding the endorphin high. He sighed contentedly at the low ceiling, feeling his breath come fluttering back as he pitched his face towards the stars. '_Shame__ he__'__d__ never__ gotten__ around__ to __puttin__' __in__ a__ sun__ roof__ or__ somemat__'__._' He thought leisurely, tone unanimous as he tapped his thumb against his chin, pausing to nibble on a hangnail he found there as his body seemed to melt even further into the seat.

The feeling of contentment seemed to be universal, because his bones and muscles were still luxuriating that the same mellow, exhausted burn that seemed to have seeped down to his very core. A sensation indicative of a night well spent.

…_Christ__ that__ had__ been__ good.__ Too__ good._ The kid was like a wet dream. A god damned felony. And far more then he deserved all wrapped up in one hell of a pretty package…

He shifted in his seat. Mood doing an impressive about face as his eyes flickered back towards the distant horizon just in time to see a bolt of lightening cleave across the unsuspecting sky. A frown settled back across his features as the thought bore down on him, the truth of the matter almost crushing in its brutal honesty. _The__ kid__** was**__ too __good__ for __him._

He wanted to do right by him. But he had no idea how. In fact, in this case he would be the first one to admit that he'd never really been good at this kind of shit, at all the stupid little things that seemed to make up the less carnal side of intimacy. Shit like _feelings__…__and__ emotions_, and all that other crap that always seemed to come along with them.

He'd never been one for relationships. Never been one to remember anniversaries or care much about things like birthdays or special dates either. Perhaps it was because in the grand scheme of things, he'd never really seen how they could matter that much. Especially not when put beside the purity of the feeling. The affection, the desire..hell, even the love. After all, what was the significance of something as silly as a three month anniversary when set against the way that he could barely get through something like his first real date without blushing and stuttering because the beaut' sitting in the booth across from him was just _that_ damn pretty? The level of gentle mischief reflecting back in her flawless, almond shaped eyes being enough in itself to make a kid fall head over heels into his first love.

But in the end, at least in his experience, he'd learned that ignoring the little things _always_ seemed to matter. He'd known lovers that stockpiled them. Holding them over his head like weapons of mass destruction, as little white lies hitched their rides to hell on the tail coats of phrases like: "don't worry about it" or "you can make it up to me," that were all carefully tallied to be used against you at a later date.

He sunk his teeth into his fist as he fought to keep himself still. Because he didn't have the first clue how to deal with things like the reality that sometime not very long ago, he probably wouldn't have even given the kid a second glance. Hell, if the world hadn't gone and ended on them, they probably wouldn't have even met at all.

_And w__asn__'__t__ that__ just__ a __mind__ fuck __and __a__ half?_

He blew a frustrated breath at the ceiling, teeth gnawing on his lower lip as his thoughts blew past like micro-film stuck on fast forward. …God knows he could be an asshole, especially when he wasnt meaning too. For fucks sakes, he swore it was like the Dixon family legacy sometimes.

It seemed that even _he_ wasn't immune to having his share of insecurities. At least when he could find it in himself to admit them that is_..._ Because for now, despite it all, he knew he wouldn't be able to tell the kid what he wanted to hear. He wouldn't be able to give the kid the same parts of himself that his other lovers had likely gifted over so easily. _Because __he __wasn__'__t__ like __that..__ He__'__d __never__ been__ able__ give__ himself__ so __freely.._

Perhaps five years from now, things might be different. _He__ might__ be __different._ Perhaps in five years from now they would both be able to look back on this moment and laugh, their tones teasing and all too knowing as they remembered the problems of those early days. Perhaps five years from now the world will have gone back to the way it was before. Perhaps five years from now all the little things wouldn't matter so much. Perhaps five years from now, life might have pulled them apart. Or maybe, five years from now, they'd both be long dead.

He didn't expect forever. He wasn't even sure if he wanted it neither. Besides, he had always reckoned that the word 'forever' was just some overly romantic, teenage girl notion anyway. Because _nothing_ lasts forever, not back then, and certainly not now. Not even the ground they walked on or the air they breathed would last that long.

…But for now, given the nature of these changing days, perhaps what he _did_ have to give would be enough. After all, it seemed as though he had just been given the whole rest of his life to at least _try_.

He ran a hand across the span of his face, tracing the lifting corners of his lips as a small smile stole across the length of him. Warmth flooding back into his chest as the man beside him shifted in his sleep. Mumbling softly as a single hand fell across his chest, fingers curling into the muscled skin just about his heart, as if somehow seeking to make his decision _for_ him…

..And he couldn't help but wonder, even as he drifted off to sleep. If that action in itself somehow provided the solution for everything he had just sought to answer...Because really, wouldn't that just be something?..

**A/N****#1:** Please let me know what you think? Reviews and constructive critiquing are love!

**A/N****#2:** Well, this is it folks! This story is officially completed! I wanted to thank you for all your support and encouragement throughout the process of this story, they were absolutely invaluable! It has definitely been a long, crazy ride in completing this story, but it feels right that it ends right before the season two premier! I will be writing more in this fandom, probably right away, I have another full story basically completed!

"_Civilized__ people__ cannot__ fully __satisfy __their__ sexual __instinct__ without__ love._" - _Bertrand__ Russell_


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